


A City Dressed in Dynamite

by goldenEY3



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 1940's-1950's, Alternate Universe - Noir, Detective Noir, Everyone is kind of an asshole, F/F, Film Noir, Murder Mystery, Mystery, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 15:00:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 79,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21358129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenEY3/pseuds/goldenEY3
Summary: Four crime syndicates vie for control of the city. Only one man, Bastion, keeps the peace. And the peace was held, until Bastion is murdered.Fareeha Amari, the last remaining independent in the city, is hired by Angela Ziegler to find out who killed Bastion and why.She has to be quick about it, too, before the four syndicates go to war and blow the city up.
Relationships: Fareeha "Pharah" Amari/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Comments: 76
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

A piercing, stabbing light was gouging my eyes out. Fuck, just stop, won’t you? God fucking dammit, why wouldn’t it stop?

I thrashed, trying to bat it away with my hand. For a brief half-second, the light went away, but it came back, and seemingly with a vengeance. The light didn’t like being denied, that’s for sure.

What the hell is that?

Blinking, I finally rolled around in bed. Oh, it was the sun. The sun, beaming down through my fucking sun-facing bedroom. God, I hate this apartment.

I pulled my pillow over my head, but that just made me feel stuffy and hot. After ten minutes of trying to fall back to sleep, I gave up and threw the pillow across the room. I regretted it the instant the pillow left my hand; it left me prey to the damned sun.

“Why won’t you go away?” I croaked.

Even rolling around felt like it was disconnected. I was too big and too small at the same time, thrashing about. Eventually, in all my mad rolling about, I fell out of my bed. I hit the ground hard; fortunately, I was still poor, and couldn’t afford a real bed. I just had a box spring and a mattress, meaning I only dropped a foot.

That foot felt like a goddamn mile. I was one giant sore, every part of me seemed to be aching. A dull pain all over was all I could feel. Then again, I’d take a body full of dull pain over the piercing pain that was shooting through my skull. It felt like my head would split open at any second, and every second it wasn’t was teasing me.

“God, what the fuck happened last night?” I hissed, cradling my poor skull. Rolling around, I bumped into something, making it rattle and roll. With my eyes squeezed shut, I blindly reached out, grabbing the thing I bumped into.

Peeking through one eye, I looked at the thing I had ran into. It was an empty bottle of Jameson whiskey.

“Oh. Right. That happened.”

It was a gift from Moira, a ‘thank you’ for a job well done of embarrassing Genji Shimada. Moira was Talon, and she broke the taboo of fucking across syndicate lines; somehow she got away with it. But she didn’t like that Genji did what Genji was one to do, namely showing his big ol’ katana to anyone willing, so she hired me to get some embarrassing dirt on him.

One bisexual orgy and half a roll of film later, and Genji had to keep his head down in his own backyard. Normally no one would bat an eye at that, but Genji was fucking some non-Asians in that orgy. That put off a lot of people in the Shimada clan, namely his brother Hanzo. That, in turn, netted me a nice payday _and_ a bottle of good whiskey. Moira said it was supposed to age well, but if it was empty…well, I can attest to the fact that it does _not_ age well in a belly.

If there was one positive of falling to the ground, it was that my bed blocked the sun, giving me some reprieve from the burning orb. The wooden floor of my apartment was nice and cool in the shade, making it feel that much more luxurious. My eyelids turned to lead, and I finally passed out.

It felt like I had just gone to sleep, but when I opened my eyes, the sun was high in the sky. Crawling and pulling myself up to my clock, I saw that it was almost noon.

“Fucking hell.”

That meant I missed nearly the entire morning of work. Oh well, it wasn’t like clients were busting down my door. I’d be lucky to get a client every three days. Of course, most of those clients were people who thought their significant other was cheating on them. That just meant following a man or woman around to see if they truly were living by their vows of marriage. It was no big loss.

My body was a battlefield. On one hand, I wanted to go back to sleep. On the other hand, I was already feeling antsy about sleeping in to almost noon; I had to get up and move.

“Oh fuck you,” I told myself as I fought against gravity until I was finally standing. Thinking hard, the last thing I remember from the night before was getting about halfway through that bottle of Jameson; as far as I could remember, I was wearing my usual trousers and button down shirt. But now, I was in my boxers and an undershirt. What a fucking wreck I was.

I forced my body to move, and stumbled to the bathroom. I didn’t have to stumble far, my apartment was a cheap piece of shit. I accidentally turned on the red film developing light instead of the regular bulb. Since my apartment was a cheap piece of shit, everything had to pull double-duty; my bathroom doubled as my dark room, mostly because it was the easiest place to blot out the light. It only had one tiny window that was covered most of the time.

I couldn’t tell if I was still drunk or just really fucking hungover, but I was able to strip down and turn on the shower. A shower should’ve felt like relief, but my apartment was so shitty, I didn’t even have a true bathtub. My bathroom consisted of a toilet, a sink, and a tiny shower stall. Everything was lined with subway tile, not to look bougie but to cut a few corners and make the whole thing cheap and easy to make.

The water was cold, stinging my skin. It was better at waking me up than the sun was. Like usual, I had to hunch under the shower head to get soaked. I was a giant compared to other women of my age and ethnicity, just an inch short of six feet, but I felt truly out of place whenever I tried to take a shower. I swear, this place was built for someone shorter than the average height of one-fifty-nine centimeters. And here I was, a crisp one-eighty. Sometimes I hated my body.

Grunting to get under the water, I lathered the cheap bar of soap and worked it all over. Finally clean, I rinsed off, and dried myself with a towel. Was it really time to start the day? Oh God, it really was.

Lumbering out of the bathroom like the hungover giant I was, I stumbled back to my bedroom and went on the search for clean clothes. I’d have to do laundry again soon. Still, I found a pair of underwear that was clean, a decent bra, some pants that seemed presentable, and a shirt that wasn’t too wrinkled. Damn. All things considered, I was batting a thousand today.

Walking out of my bedroom, I made my way to my office. ‘Office.’ That was being far too generous. Like everything that had to pull double duty, my office was my living room and kitchen, with a sofa, desk, and second-hand high-backed chair to make it seem official. I walked over to the answering machine, but found the tape empty. Oh good, that meant no one tried to bother me when I was still passed out dead drunk. Or hungover. Or whatever. That just meant I could get some food.

My ‘office’ led to my foyer, which was a nice way of saying a few square feet of empty space holding my bedroom, bathroom, and living room/office/kitchen together. I couldn’t find my shoes. Cursing, I stumbled about my apartment on my first big case of the day. Where were my fucking shoes? They weren’t in the living room/office, they sure as shit weren’t in my bedroom, and like hell they were in the bathroom.

Oh, of course they were in the sink in my kitchen. Blackout-drunk-me had a real good sense of humor.

Shoes in the sink. I was laughing at that as I put them back on. Finally, I made my way to the foyer and the front door, grabbing my trusty trench coat. It sounded like a fucking cliché, but goddammit, did I love the thing. It kept me warm and dry, and looking like a bad motherfucker. What’s more, I didn’t pay a cent for it. It was a gift from my time as a detective for the city’s police department, before I learned how the world worked and just how corrupt the place was.

Slipping my coat on, I stole a glance at myself in the small mirror by my door. My long black hair was absolute shit, making me look either like a cheap prom date on a walk of shame or a chronic drunk. It was hard to think of what I was more of. The wedjat tattoo under my eye stood out on my bronze skin, defiant of the bags around my eyes. The rest of me looked like a mess, what with the wrinkled clothes and all that.

All in all, I looked fine. I felt even better when I found a still-full pack of cigarettes in my jacket pocket. Maybe this day wouldn’t be so bad.

Stepping out of my apartment on the fourth floor, I saw a piece of paper taped to my door.

_Keep it down! Other people live here!_

No doubt it was one of my neighbors making a point about my blackout self. I looked at my door, which was modified with a top-half frosted glass window. I couldn’t help but feel a little bit of pride about that; I bought that door with the last of my police paychecks.

_Fareeha Amari. Private Eye._

I pulled out my cheap Zippo lighter and took a lung full of death, supposedly cancer free.

Now it felt like I was alive. Or at least awake. Nothing like a lung full of smoke to remind you of how alive you were, no matter how hungover you were.

I made my way down the stairs, each step creaking and groaning under my weight. I’d have to get back to the gym eventually, once I found the energy.

Finally, I left my cheap-ass apartment, walking onto the minor side street it was on. The sun burned my eyes yet again; squinting, I raised my arm to give me some shade. It was too early for this shit, and it was already past noon.

In my hungover mind, the sun was too much, but in reality, clouds were blotting it out. It was like the world was in twilight, and I couldn’t stand even the slightest bit of light. I could smell it in the air; it was threatening to rain yet again. Maybe this time it’ll actually get on with a deluge instead of just teasing us and raising humidity. Then again, it might not be anything; this was a coastal city, so either I was smelling about-to-rain humidity, or the salty sea air was teasing my nose again. This damn city felt like it was always teasing to do something. Made me wonder why anyone would fight over it, let alone how four different syndicates thought it was all worthwhile.

“Well, what a wonderful day of perpetual twilight,” I mumbled to the cigarette dangling from my mouth. I turned my collar up and went to find some food. Fortunately, I had a place that was good to me.

My feet took me to Orisa’s little diner. It was a hop, skip, and a jump away from my apartment, which meant that I finished just one cigarette by the time I got there. Looks like I had missed all of the lunch crowd. I walked in, and took a seat at the little bar that made up most of the diner.

“You look like death.”

I looked up at Orisa. And I thought I was tall; Orisa was easily six and a half feet, all of it pure muscle. She was as big as Zarya, the protector of the only neutral ground in the city. And I thought I was black; my hide was like a piece of sugary milk chocolate compared to Orisa’s pitch black skin.

“Thanks,” I said, “you look good, too.”

Orisa chuckled at that. She wore her usual chef attire, white apron covering her simple overalls. Orisa hadn’t changed at all in the year since I helped her get free from under Efi’s thumb.

“What can I get for you?”

“Something greasy, and plenty of it,” I mumbled, sitting down on the bar stool. My head found its way into my hands.

“Comin’ right up.”

It felt like I had just closed my eyes, but once I opened them, a plate of eggs, hash browns, sausage, and bacon was staring at me, along with a cup of black coffee.

“Thanks Orisa,” I smiled.

God bless Orisa. It didn’t matter if I ordered prime New York steak, caviar, and hundred-dollar-a-glass whiskey, Orisa wouldn’t charge me a penny. She’d probably break my arm if I honestly tried to pay. Getting out from under Efi’s thumb wasn’t the only thing I helped her with. I’ve done too many things for that woman and nobody knew where the metaphorical bodies were buried. All except for me. For her, all my meals were for free.

But even if I could eat for free forever, I was going to hide some dollars under the plate. Officially, it was all a tip to Orisa, but it still felt good to pay for something.

“Hear any news?” I asked Orisa as she walked out from the tiny kitchen, another plate full of food in hand for a lucky customer.

“Nothing,” she said. “Just another day in the life.”

“Joy oh joy,” I mumbled.

“It’d be a better life if you backed off the booze.”

“I already get an earful of that from my mother, I don’t need it from you,” I laughed.

“If you _only_ get that shit it from your mother, you’re too far gone,” Orisa laughed back.

“Too damn fucking true,” I grinned. The grease, food, and coffee were waking me up; I felt like a million bucks. “Thanks Orisa.”

“You’re welcome, Fareeha.”

There was a jingle from the door, and someone sat next to me. Considering there were plenty of booths and chairs that were empty, that meant the someone wanted to talk to me. Something told me my day would be getting worse.

“You took your time waking up.”

“The Chief of Police himself,” I said, trying not to grumble. I stuffed another fork-full of hash browns into my mouth. “To what do I owe the displeasure?”

Jack Morrison snorted at that. Like usual, he was wearing his police uniform. It was a dark navy blue double-breasted jacket with shiny brass buttons. And like usual, it was all very pristine. But he took the time to take off his hat.

“Good to know you still got a mouth on you,” he said. “Coffee, please.”

“Cut the shit, Jack,” I said. “You know I left the police life behind, I’m independent now.”

“You’re doing a bad job imitating Bastion,” he said, taking his cup of Joe.

“I’m not trying to imitate Bastion.”

“Let’s see, Bastion doesn’t work for anyone,” Jack said, ticking off his fingers, “he’s independent, and he finds ways to keep the peace in this city. That’s three for three, Fareeha.”

“Bastion wants to save this city the only way he knows how: by getting everyone to work together,” I said. “I don’t give a shit about any of you.”

“Then how are you liking it out in the metaphorical cold?”

“Peachy-fucking-keen,” I lied.

“Something tells me that’s bullshit.”

“You always were a great detective.”

“I’m not here to trade barbs with you again, Fareeha. I’m here to offer you your job back.”

“Did my mother put you up to this?”

“Not just her, but me, too,” Jack said. “We wanted to take care of you. This whole ‘fuck the world’ mentality you’ve got is only going to hurt yourself. I’m trying to give you something resembling your old life back.”

“Oh, so I can go back to lying on reports, making people vanish?” I said. “Shake down a few more businesses for ‘protection insurance?’ God, that was fun. Oh, or maybe selling indulgences—sorry, ‘tickets to the policeman’s ball.’”

“Fareeha, this is how things work in this city,” Jack sighed. “Gears need to be greased.”

“And the city’s awash in grease.”

“Alright then, Ms. High and Mighty, how are things working out for you now?” He snapped. “I know you barely get by. Being a private eye doesn’t pull in the money, not when you’re independent. You’ve got to join a side in this city, this staying out in the cold shit isn’t good for you.”

“I like it a lot better than taking bribes.”

“You don’t have to be a cop again, you can just work with us. You’ll get to be a private eye, and get the benefits of working with the police department.”

“Which means I’ll probably be shuffled off to break some legs and do other shit cops can’t be caught doing,” I said. “No thanks.”

“Just think on it.”

“Fuck, mom must be giving you a real bad time if you’re taking this much shit from me.”

“She hates seeing you hurt yourself like this, Fareeha. You have to know that.”

“Yeah, yeah, and she knows better than to piss me off by showing up and asking this herself.”

“Now I knew you’d bring that up,” Jack grinned. “You’re getting predictable.”

“Only when it comes to me telling you to go fuck yourself.”

“Fair enough,” Jack sighed. “Fareeha, you’ve become a less charming, misanthropic Bastion. You know that, right?”

“Bastion still believes there’s good left in this city, and tries to save whatever he can by keeping the peace. I know there’s nothing but shit in this city,” I said. “I’m not misanthropic, I’m just ahead of the curve.”

“You do realize that sounds exactly like misanthropy, right?”

“I prefer the term ‘jaded.’”

Shaking his head, Jack finished his coffee and left a few bills on the counter. I watched him as he walked out.

“Fucking cops,” Orisa grumbled, glaring at Jack as she took his empty cup of coffee. “They think they own everything.”

“Not everything, just a quarter of the city,” I said. I slyly slid a few bills into Orisa’s apron when she was glaring at Jack as he left. “Gotta remember that Talon, Deadlock, and the Shimada clan have everything else.”

“This damn place is rotten.”

“To the core,” I said, finishing my meal. “Thanks again, Orisa.”

Walking out of the diner, I re-opened my wallet; it had felt too thin when I secretly paid Orisa. But second looks didn’t count for shit; I had to see for myself that I was damn near broke.

“Fuck,” I hissed. Well, might as well get back to the J-O-B.

Fortunately, Orisa’s home cooked meal had sobered me up to the point where I could actually feel like I could do some work. I made my way back to my apartment, but spotted my second piece of bad news.

A black car was waiting for me by my apartment. Considering that all the other cars were ratty and a few steps away from being buckets of rust, this one stood out because it was actually nice. It had a deep, black paint job, flat and matte, and windows that were too dark to be legally tinted. The bonnet of the car stretched out, telling the world that it had a beast of an engine. What really sealed the deal was the silvery emblem that read ‘V8.’

The suicide door opened, and a tall man stepped out. Where Jack looked regal in his police uniform, this man looked absolutely dangerous. It was well tailored, hanging off his fit frame in all the right ways. His jacket and pants were black, but his dress shirt was blood red.

“Ms. Amari.”

“Gabriel Reyes, the fucking Reaper himself. Man, I knew I shouldn’t have gotten out of bed today,” I groaned. “You got that widow bitch with you?”

“Such a brute,” a French accent said. A long, slender leg stepped out of the car. Amélie Guillard was the perfect image of a classy woman. Her dark hair was amazing, and she wore an elegant, and very deep purple dress, which made her look absolutely cold. She carried a purse with her; no doubt it had a gun in it. But I knew her, her rep, and her nickname; she was dangerous, maybe even more so than Reyes.

If Talon sent the Widow after you, you had maybe a few days to get your affairs in order. The only person who actually got away from the Widow was Jesse fuckin’ McCree.

“I keep telling you, we’d be best not to use her,” Amélie said.

“Looks like we can agree on something then,” I said. “Why are you here?”

“A little birdy told me that Jack paid you a visit,” Reyes said.

“So you can talk to animals now?”

“Shut up and listen,” he snapped. “Whatever Jack is paying you, Talon can pay you more.”

“Let me guess: all I have to do is some favors for you.”

“Money doesn’t grow on trees. You work for your pay, and you’ll be well fed.”

He didn’t have to gesture to his clothes or car. Both were signs of his ill-gotten wealth.

“Well, don’t need to worry about that. Jack isn’t paying me shit ‘cus I’m not working for him,” I said. “That goes double for you.”

“You don’t know how good of a position you’re in,” Reyes said. “People respect that you’re not on anyone’s side. But it also means that they don’t like you because you look like a wishy-washy gutless bitch for sticking it out without picking a side.”

“An endearing trait, I’m told.”

“You can’t forget mouthy,” Amélie said.

“In more ways than one,” I grinned, thinking about the last time I got laid. Then I remember how long ago it was.

“Talon could use talent like you,” Reyes said. “You’re a great detective. We can put that to good use.”

“By having me work with Sombra and spy on the other factions in the city? Try to suss out what they’re doing so Talon can take them out, or make a move on them first? Maybe pull out a few fingernails or teeth, break a leg here or there? Gun down the odd person who looks at you funny? Or would you give me to your bookies and have me run down all the people who owe you too much money from gambling in your dens? The choices are endless.”

“You’re a smart woman, Amari. You need to use that brain of yours.”

“I think I’ll use it by telling you to go fuck yourselves. Just ‘cus I hate the police doesn’t mean I want to see a group like Talon gain the upper hand.”

“Look at you,” Amélie snorted. “Living in squalor. We can change that.”

“By selling my soul. How original.”

“You’ll be doing good work,” Reyes said.

“In who’s eyes?” I asked.

“Your wallet’s.”

Well, he had a point there.

“I think you need to realize just how much I hate Talon,” I said. “Or have you been hanging around the Widow a little too much? Maybe you picked up some of her more charming habits, like hypocrisy and whatever passes for blood in those ice cold veins of hers.”

“Gerard was an abusive fucking asshole who deserved worse than what I gave him,” Amélie spat. “You do not know the things he did to me.”

“Whoa, don’t get the wrong idea,” I said, holding my hands up. “When I heard that Gerard died a very mysterious and suspicious death, I did a little jig. I was pissed as fuck every time the police stuck to their damned ‘blue wall of silence,’ blindly protected him no matter what disgusting thing he did, and not only to you.”

“Then what are you saying?” Amélie said. “That we must have a good reason to kill the people who said they love us?”

“I’m just saying you going to Talon wasn’t the best move,” I said. “Gerard was bad to you. But now you’re doing the same things he did to other people. Kind of makes it seem…oh, I don’t know…maybe that you and he aren’t that different—”

“Pick your next words _very _carefully, chienne,” the Widow spat, advancing on me.

“I think I’ve said everything I need to say,” I grinned.

“I thought so,” she said, slinking away.

I really couldn’t help myself.

“Have a good day Gerard—er, Amélie.”

The Widow spun around, advancing on me with a barely held roar of rage. Reyes grabbed her wrist before she could touch me.

“If she wants to do this to herself, let her,” he said.

“Let me at her! That bitch won’t see the day’s end!” The Widow bellowed.

“Mrs. Lecroix, you are making a French spectacle of yourself,” I grinned.

Calling her by her old married name only made her angrier. I knew I shouldn’t be tempting the Widow like that, but I was short on cash and fucks to give.

Reyes dragged her to the car, roughly pushing her in.

“This is a standing offer,” he said.

“So is this,” I said, flipping him off.

Reyes climbed in, gunning the engine. The massive V8 roared to life, giving me a little palpation. It was a seriously nice car. I watched it drive away.

“Damn, that was fun to watch.”

Turning around, I came face to face with Jesse fuckin’ McCree, the Deadlock Gang’s trigger man himself. He wore a trench coat like me, only his was a darker color, and much, much finer. He wore real nice clothes with that gaudy BAMF belt buckle of his. I could also see his old style revolver hanging from his side, ready to be used in a moment’s notice.

“Jesse fuckin’ McCree,” I groaned. “Holy shit, what is up with this day? Jack, Gabriel, and now you? Tick-tack-toe, three-in-a-row, I lose. Where’s the woman holding your leash?”

“Ashe is just fine,” he grinned, nodding over his shoulder. Now that Reyes was gone, a small gang of bikers was driving up. Leading them was Calamity Ashe herself, looking hot as hell with her bleached white hair, long coat, and fitted vest. She and her Deadlock men pulled over, almost surrounding me.

“Looks like I spoke too soon,” I grumbled. “I get to talk to the fuck toy _and_ the dom.”

“Come on, Amari, you gotta admit this whole independent thing isn’t working itself out,” Ashe said in her fine southern drawl.

“It clearly isn’t,” Jesse grinned, looking at the crappy neighborhood I could barely afford to live in. “Fareeha, you should know that Ashe is a more forgiving sort than the police and Talon.”

“’Forgiving’ only if you’re good at what you do,” Ashe said, shutting her bike off. It was a beautiful Harley-Davidson. “You join me, I can give you some good work, the kind that really pays the bills.”

“The kind that includes gun running, cutting up bodies, and knocking over banks?” I asked. “That doesn’t give me the best life expectancy in this city.”

“Live fast, die young, leave a good lookin’ corpse,” Calamity Ashe grinned, leaning back, straddling her hot machine.

“That’s your idea of fun, not mine.”

“But look where it gets you,” Jesse said, gesturing to his clothes and the motorcycles. They _were_ fine.

“You mean with a bounty on your head? No thanks,” I said. “Speaking of bounties, you sure you should be hanging around so close to Talon? Reyes still has it out for you for jumping ship to Deadlock, and you can be sure as shit the Widow wants to finally get her hands on you. You’re her white whale.”

“You flatterer,” he grinned. “What’s life without a little thrill, eh darlin’?”

“I’m not your fucking darling, Jesse, you save that shit for Ashe,” I snapped. “Now get out of here, all of you.”

“Hey, you just gotta know how appreciative I would be if you came to your senses,” Ashe said, talking like smooth silk. “You really got a good head on your shoulders, Fareeha. ‘Bout time you used it.”

“I’ll use it myself, without having anyone think for me,” I shot back.

“Don’t say I didn’t try,” Ashe said, starting her bike. “Jesse, you coming?”

“In a second,” he said. “I’m kinda hoping Reyes turns around. Could use a little excitement to get the blood pumping.”

Ashe gave him a hard look, but let him go.

“Don’t go making me wait on you,” she spat before leading her bikers off.

“Damn, standing up to Calamity Ashe?” I said. “Jesse, you’ve being a very bad fuck toy.”

“I just want to make sure you know how good Deadlock can be to you,” he said. “You get a signing bonus, too. I can give you another bonus, if ya get what I’m saying.”

Jesse’s hands went to that obnoxious belt-buckle he always wore, the one proclaiming him as a bad ass motherfucker. Granted, with all the shit he’d done, Jesse had earned the title, but it was clear with how he was posturing and sticking his pelvis out that he wanted to give me a ride on his mother fucker.

“You’re playing for the wrong team, asshole.”

“I think you’re being a picky eater, darlin’,” he grinned.

“Wow. I never thought I’d be more sickened than I already am, but look at me now. The world is still full of wonder.”

“I’ll be around when you decide to give it a go, darlin’.”

“Fuck off, Jesse.”

I swear, absolutely nothing could phase Jesse McCree. He just grinned that dumb, shit-eating-grin and strutted away. Even when he defected from Talon and jumped into bed with Ashe, he was always grinning. Even when Reyes and the Widow herself chased after him, all he could do was grin.

Jesse fuckin’ McCree. Even thinking his name made me shake my head in disgust, and also a grudging amount of respect. With all the gunfights he got in, with all the shit he pulled, he should be dead ten times over. That fucker had ‘luck’ tattooed across his ass.

I pulled the keys to my apartment complex out, letting myself into the little mail room. I opened my box; mostly spam, couple of bills, shit like that. I stuck another cigarette in my mouth and made my way up to my flat.

“Oh what the fuck.”

Standing in front of my door was none other than Hanzo Shimada. I just went four-for-four on the who’s who of syndicates in this fucking city, all in an hour.

“God,” I said, looking to the ceiling, “I know I’ve done a lot, but if you could tell me what I did to deserve this fucking day, I’d really appreciate it.”

“There’s no fate but what we make for ourselves,” Hanzo said, gently stroking his well-kept beard. He was dressed in a tan cashmere long coat, and a matching pinstripe suit. I might fancy the finer sex, but I could admit he looked damn fine. Not a single hair was out of place.

“Spare me the pleasantries and fuck off, Hanzo,” I groaned.

“I don’t want to take up much of your time,” he said gently. He was American, born here like I was, but he grew up around immigrants which gave him a slight accent. “I know this day is stressful for you. I know you’ll reject my offer, but it must be made regardless.”

“Is that so?”

“Quite.”

I unlocked my door and walked into my dive of an apartment. I sat at my desk.

“Is this official enough for you? Now fuck off.”

“The offer must be made first,” he said, walking into the little foyer.

“Why is this happening?” I asked, cradling my head. The nicotine of this cigarette wasn’t getting me relaxed in the slightest.

“This city lives in a queer state of balance,” Hanzo said. “Four groups of organized crime syndicates vie for control. When one makes a move, the rest follow suit with counter-moves.”

“You mean I can blame this whole fucking day on Jack for making me an offer?”

“One could argue a very good case,” Hanzo said. “Jack offered to bring you in, which prompted Gabriel to make an offer. He was trying to turn you from Jack before your work with him had even begun. And we all know Ashe would love to poach any talent she can; the last time she stole a man, it gave her…”

Hanzo paused, working up the nerve to say the name I knew he was going to say. Even the stoic Hanzo groaned and rolled his eyes when he said that asshole’s name.

“It gave her Jesse fucking McCree, an investment that’s still paying dividends. And because Ashe and her Deadlock rebels want you, the Shimada clan must make every effort to deny them that advantage. A butterfly flaps, a hurricane strikes.”

“Fine. What’s your offer?” I said, trying to get this shit show on with.

“Come work for my family; you won’t be the only non-Asian-American on our payroll. The Shimada clan is much more refined than Ashe’s Deadlock rebels, Talon’s bloody butchery, and the police’s painfully obvious corruption. We value intelligence and discretion. One thing is undeniable; you are very smart. We can use that intellect you smother with bitterness to expand our operations.”

“By doing what? Figuring out how to grow more dope for you, or new shipping lanes for your smack operations? Oh, maybe you’ll put me in the opium trade, cutting deals and opening up drug dens for your clientele. The choices are endless!”

“Now that the offer is made, you may make your choice,” Hanzo said. “Although we both know you’ll chose your own brand of stubbornness.”

“Shouldn’t your fuck-up of a brother be here instead?”

That finally got the tiny smirk off Hanzo’s face.

“My brother is in the dog house at the moment,” he said, giving me a flat glare.

“I bet. I heard he got his picture taken in another non-Asian whorehouse. I heard there were even a few men there! That must’ve caused some issues with everyone. Rumor has it he was even sticking that big ol’ thing of his into Moira. Fucking across syndicates! How scandalous.”

Hanzo glared at me. He didn’t need to know that I was the one who took the pictures, and he sure as fuck didn’t need to know that Moira hired me. Sure it was a petty lover’s spat between the two, especially since they were fucking across syndicate lines, but hell hath no fury as a woman’s scorn. However, I couldn’t help but think that Moira should’ve known what she was getting into when she jumped on Genji Shimada’s sizable katana. And thanks to that job, and the pictures I had to take, I knew just what Genji was packing.

“Come on, you have to admit those were some pretty good pictures,” I grinned.

“I want to ask how you know that, but I have the distinct feeling you won’t tell me,” he said tightly.

“It’s like you’re psychic.”

“Chief Morrison is right; you are truly a less charming, misanthropic Bastion.”

“Thanks. Now fuck off.”

Had to hand it to him, Hanzo took my rejection better than anyone else had this day. He nodded politely, and left without a word. He passed a thin man on his way out. Seeing who it was, the man gaped and paled.

“Come on in,” I said. “You couldn’t make this day any worse, trust me.”

I kept that last bit to myself.

The man tottered in, clearly shaken to be by the de facto head of the ruthless Shimada clan.

“I-i-is…?”

“I don’t work for the Shimadas,” I groaned. Suddenly I needed a drink or four. “Nor Talon, nor Deadlock, nor the cops. I just work for me.”

“Oh, good…” The man sat down opposite me.

“How can I help you?”

“I…I think my husband is cheating on me,” he mumbled.

Great. Another cheating case. Well, I was desperate enough for money, so might as well.

* * *

I got enough of an up-front payment from the spurned husband that I was able to buy some more rolls of film and enough gas to get me around the city. My little clunker that could decided that today wasn’t it’s last day before going to the big scrapheap in the sky, which was good. I just paid to have the engine air filter and rear struts replaced, I’d be pissed to high hell if it gave up on me now.

It coughed and groaned when I cranked the starter, but that was a given for a car that had more rust spots than good bolts. Still, it spun up, and got me around to where the man said his husband might be. This day started looking a little better.

Cheaters. If they’re sloppy, they’re easy money. But if they’re even a little paranoid, they’re a bitch. Fortunately, this guy was either sloppy, cocky, or just didn’t fucking care. His husband told me his favorite bar, which was pretty nice I had to admit, and sure enough, as soon as the five o’clock quitting time rolled around, he strutted on in there almost like he owned the place.

I had enough of the up-front payment left over to buy a few cheap beers; not because I needed it, but because I couldn’t stay in a bar and order water all the live-long day. Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long. The cheater was hitting on anything that seemed cute, and he had a pretty big definition of what cute was. He wasn’t limiting himself to genders, either. He got shot down a few times by men and women alike, but he started chatting it up with one talkative man. The number of beers they polished off grew, and then they were out into the streets, driving to an amorous rendezvous.

I followed them at a respectable distance, not only to avoid spooking them, but because my car really wasn’t fast at all. Still, the habits and techniques of police work came back to me as easy as sliding on an old, comfortable shoe, and it was as easy as pie to follow them to a halfway decent hotel.

Oh thank you God, this made my life easier. I found a parking spot, slid some coins into the meter, and watched them enter the hotel. I pulled out my camera and zoomed in on them; soon, they got a room, and were getting pretty handsy as they called an elevator.

Now for the fun part: time to see if I could run the good-old Bavarian Fire Drill. I pulled out a clipboard, and got out of my car. I stood up to my full height, making sure my shoulder blades were almost touching, and stormed into the hotel, my trench coat billowing behind me.

“Hello ma’am, how can I help you?” A bellhop asked as I walked in.

“Yes, I’m running an investigation, I need to know if two men came in here recently,” I said, voice full of authority and the slightest hint of a hurry. It also helped that I was bigger than the tiny bellhop, my trench coat lent me an air of respectability, and the clipboard made everything seem that much more official.

“Er, I-I’m sorry?”

“An investigation,” I growled, letting the poor man know I was upset with him. “I’m working on one right now, and need to know if two men rented a hotel room in the past…” I looked at my almighty clipboard. “Five minutes.”

“Oh, uh, I…I think so, officer,” the bellhop said. I did my best not to grin. I was being honest that I was running an investigation, but I certainly wasn’t a cop. Still, if he assumed I was a cop, I wasn’t going to stop him. “Yeah, now that you mention it, a couple of guys did. They should be in room three-twelve.”

“Thank you,” I said over my shoulder as I stormed out of the hotel. I dropped my clipboard off at my car, jogged around the hotel, and found the wrought-iron fire escape. I got a running start, jumped off a trash can, and caught the hinged stairs that was held in place by counterweights. Times like these I loved being a fit giant.

I climbed the fire escape, and made my way to the third floor. In the dying light, I quietly peered through the windows until I found the two men in the act.

My camera was hanging around my neck on a worn leather strap. Quietly moving, I started snapping pictures. Now I’m not into men, but I’ll watch some hot guy-on-guy action any day of the week, and they were really fucking into it. I took more pictures than I’d need; I’d keep my fair share of them for when I started feeling lonely.

I left just as they climaxed and got to the cuddling phase. I left, a simple shadow in the night, and made my way back to my car; I had just enough time on the meter to dodge a meter maid ticket. Fucking score.

Once back at my apartment, I called the cheated-upon husband up, telling him to come on over. As he drove over, I developed the film in my bathroom, and picked out a few shots to show my good work, without really rubbing it in the poor guy’s face.

Getting cheated on sucks, so I was as gentle as I could be. The poor guy was, predictably, heartbroken. He always thought his husband was too good for him, but it ended up being the other way around. I gave him some of the pictures, and he gave me the rest of my paycheck, along with a thank-you-tip for justifying his paranoia.

I ended up feeling a little guilty at that point, so I grabbed some of the juicier pics to flip through as a pick-me-up, getting a little handsy with myself in the process. Fortunately, no one knocked on my door, saving me some embarrassment. The night got darker, and it got to be the socially accepted quitting time for night owls.

Getting that payout felt good, so I decided to go grab some late night grub at Orisa’s. I hated taking advantage of the sweetheart’s kindness, so I only went when I had enough money to tip her.

I was grabbing my trench coat and sticking a cigarette into my mouth when there was a knock at the door. Looking through the pane of frosted glass, I saw a figure knocking at my door, and knocking like it was going out of style. Squinting, it looked like a woman.

They knocked at the door again, panicked.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”

I opened the door, and my breath left my lungs.

It was a woman standing at my door. A drop dead gorgeous, bombshell of a blonde. Her hair was the color of pure gold, coming down past her shoulders in gentle curls. Her face was the epitome of beauty, with cerulean eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips dressed in red lipstick. She wore a stunning blue dress which accented the curves of her breasts and her hips, but she had a jacket bunched up at her waist. Goddamn, she had gams up to here…

“A…are you Fareeha?” She stammered. “Fareeha Amari?”

Hearing her talk was like hearing the angels sing. Her voice was so light and gentle, it was mesmerizing. But there was a hitch to it, barely restrained emotions. Blinking, I realized that my cigarette fell out of my mouth.

Blinking, I realized that her eyes were red, and mascara was running through the tracks of her tears.

“Uh…yes, I am,” I stammered. Think, damn you!

“Oh good,” she cried. “God, please, can you help me?”

You useless gorram lesbian! There’s a crying woman standing in front of your door! Goddamn do something!

“C-come on in,” I said, ushering her in.

“Thank you,” she cried, dabbing her eyes with a kerchief. I led the woman into my office, letting her sit on my raggedy sofa.

“Can I get you something? Water? Tissues?”

“Yes, please,” she cried. “Oh God…”

I took a few steps to get to my kitchen and got a glass of water, and grabbed a box of tissues. I gave them both to the woman, who demurely took them.

“What’s your name?” I asked, sitting at my desk.

“Angela. Angela Ziegler.”

My brain finally started kicking into gear. About fucking time.

“Ziegler? You mean Dr. Ziegler? You’re the new doctor who’s working with Bastion, aren’t you?”

Hearing ‘Bastion,’ she broke down crying.

“Whoa, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” I stammered.

“It…it’s not you,” she sobbed.

“What is it then?”

Angela balled up her jacket, throwing it to the side. Her dress was stained red with blood.

“Bastion is dead,” she cried, grabbing more tissues.

My mind, which had spent so much time and effort getting back to a working state, came to a dead stop. Suddenly, having a beautiful woman in my office didn’t seem that important.

“W-what?”

“It’s Bastion,” she cried. “Someone killed him.”

Bastion was the only person in this city who was stopping all four syndicates from going to war. Bastion was the reason there was peace. If Bastion was dead, then it was only a matter of time until this city blew itself up. If someone killed Bastion, then somebody wanted a war. And if a war was waged, blood would choke the streets.

Fuck!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fareeha is hired by Angela to find Bastion's killer. She heads to the scene of the crime, hoping to stop a mob war before it can start.

Before he was called as Bastion, he was Chris Metzen.

The great World War II took a toll on the country. Everyone suffered, some worse than others. Some soldiers came back home just fine, but many came back different. Some were taken up by the addictive feeling of combat, like Jesse fuckin’ McCree. Some men came back a little jaded and cynical, more prone to seeing the world as a dull piece of shit and to survive, one where you had to do anything to get ahead by any means necessary, like Jack Morrison.

Even some women suffered, like my mother. She went over to help with the War in backup roles. She spent a little time as a medic, but was eventually able to sneak off to the front lines to take pot shots at enemy captains. She ended up getting a little too close to an artillery barrage and lost her eye, along with the ability to tolerate bullshit, which would explain why she didn’t like talking to me anymore.

I always wondered what would’ve happened to me if I got the chance to sail over there and end up in the War. I was all packed up and ready to go; if I was a month older, I would’ve been shipped out.

But Chris Metzen? He was one of the many, many men who came back with a bad case of shell shock. He spent his days walking on eggshells, worried that another attack was coming. He would’ve ended up like many of those poor men unable to escape the War in their heads, if it wasn’t a chance brush with destiny.

Chris was friends with Torbjörn in the Army. When the War ended, Chris had nowhere to go, his parents passed away when he was overseas. So Torbjörn offered to put him up in a spare bedroom in the hotel his family owned, and put him to work as the bartender. One night at the bar, the Talon boys got in it with some Shimada men, and a fight was about to break out. And, like many things in this damn town, it would’ve led to a bloodbath.

But Chris stepped in the middle of the escalating fight, and got everyone to calm down with drinks, on his dime.

No one would turn down a free drink, so predictably the hot-headed assholes took him up on his offer. With shaking hands, Chris poured their drinks, and asked why they were about to kill each other. Plied with free booze, they told Chris.

It’s hard to say what got the Talon and Shimada boys ready to fight; it was probably the beef their syndicates had with each other that led to them nearly jerking their guns. What was certain was that each side tried to blame the others; the Talon assholes would say the Shimadas wanted to rip them off, and Shimada’s men say Talon was trying to carpet bag them.

You couldn’t trust either of them, so the truth was probably somewhere in the middle.

Over the drinks he was giving away, Chris heard their grievances, and suggested a compromise, one that didn’t favor anyone. At first both sides weren’t having it, but when they realized that the other guy would be just as pissed off as they were, they decided that it wasn’t so bad. They weren’t getting fed from this deal, but neither was the other guy; that must mean that they didn’t lose, right?

So as Chris ate the cost of their drinks, the two groups took up his compromise, and left a little more drunk than angry. And Chris? He just said they could come back whenever they wanted to, but they had to promise not to get into a fight or pull out their guns. He was simply glad that he was able to keep them from killing each other.

About a week later, some of those Shimada guys were back in his bar when Calamity Ashe herself rolled in with her posse. Seeing the Shimada boys, she got pissed, like she was known to do. Word had reached Ashe that some Shimada guys pulled a fast one on some of her new blood. And if the new blood of the Deadlock Gang could be conned, then by extension, Ashe could as well.

She was _not_ going to take that sitting down.

So Ashe pulled her gun out, and hollered at the Shimada guys that their days were done. And fucking Chris, he jumped in front of her, begging her not to kill anyone.

It is not every day that some random stranger jumps in front of a person pulling a gun, certainly not in this fucking city. Goddamn everyone is out for themselves, so sticking one’s neck out of a nobody is utterly unheard of. It was such a shock, it actually got Calamity Ashe to stop.

Chris was babbling, pleading her to stay her temper. He even asked her why she would want to do such a thing. Ashe was so stunned by his sheer chutzpah she actually gave him a straight answer: the Shimada guys conned her men, and she wasn’t having that.

Chris must’ve thought the ‘free drink’ thing would help calm Ashe down, because he gave her the same offer; free drinks if she wouldn’t hurt anyone. Now Ashe loves her some whiskey, and she knew that Torbjörn kept the good stuff, so of course she said yes. That got Ashe and her Deadlock Gang to the table. Chris was able to bribe the startled Shimadas over with some imported sake, and heard both sides of the story.

Ashe said her men got ripped off, the Shimadas said they barely got away with a good deal. Like always, the truth was probably somewhere between the two. Chris talked, and was able to hammer out a deal that got both sides to stop trying to kill each other. No one was too happy about it, but seeing how unhappy the other side was, it was enough for them.

Word quickly got around. If Chris was able to talk Calamity Ashe down from a killing spree _and _cut a deal with her all in one night, he could be trusted to keep his word. At first, it was just a few petty things the foot soldiers came to him for, but as he kept making deal after deal, and keeping men from killing each other, his reputation grew. Soon, the heads of the syndicates were coming to him; Talon, the police, Deadlock, even the Shimadas come to him for help with cutting deals.

They didn’t go to him because his deals were good, but because they were the only deals anyone could actually agree to. No one was happy, but everyone was equally unhappy, and considering how vindictive each gang could be, that was good enough for them. Turns out this city runs on schadenfreude just as much as it runs on cash; people don’t care if they don’t get their way as long as you don’t get yours. Who’d have thunk?

It was Hanzo Shimada that gave Chris his nickname. After settling one very difficult and dangerous deal, both sides were walking away, grumbling. Hanzo looked at Chris and said, ‘you’re the last bastion of decency and honor in this city.’

A week later, no one called him Chris anymore. He was Bastion.

Back when I was a cop, I once asked Bastion why he stepped into the middle of those almost-murder parties, why he would risk his life just to try and save some mobbed up lives. He looked at me with that trademarked thousand-yard stare, and said he had seen enough death and destruction in the War; he could live to see a million and it still wouldn’t be enough time to wash away the terrors he saw.

Soon after, two rules were put in place. First, the hotel and bar that Bastion worked at was a safe haven for everyone, at any time. The second you walked into the hotel, you dropped any beef you had. Fuck churches, the bar and hotel was hallowed ground. Torbjörn even hired a security team to enforce it. He brought in the massive, humorless Zarya and her crew of soldiers, and she made sure no one brought any guns into the building.

Second, and most importantly, when Bastion came up with a deal and everyone agreed to it, you kept it. End of story.

And it held. Whenever someone made a deal with Bastion, it was kept. A kind of peace fell over this city; the daily street brawls and drive-by murders dropped to a socially acceptable amount. People who were once caught in the crossfire found themselves able to lead somewhat normal lives. Bastion was real proud of that. Before he got his nickname, people got jumpy whenever a loud car would roll by.

Eventually, a beautiful doctor came into this city. Dr. Angela Ziegler saw the terrible things that were going on, and Bastion offered her a job at the hotel. Whenever someone was hurt, they’d go to Bastion, and have a Swiss angel heal them, no questions asked, pay what you can.

It became real obvious to everyone that Bastion was keeping this city in something that resembled peace. And that was fine with Bastion. He loved peace. He wanted more of it.

I just hope he found the peace in death that he couldn’t get in life.

* * *

I stared at Dr. Ziegler, the blood draining from my face. She sat on my sofa, crying, wearing that bloodstained dress.

“Y-you’re sure that Bastion is dead?” I stammered.

The blonde beauty nodded.

“I…I held his body…” she sobbed. “Oh God, he was still warm…”

I gently took her hand as she cried more.

“How long ago was this?” I asked. Goddamn, I need a drink.

Dr. Ziegler cried more.

“I don’t…thirty minutes? Maybe more?”

The shock of hearing about Bastion’s death was starting to wear off. Replacing it was a sense of terrible dread. Someone killed Bastion. Someone killed the last good man in this city. Someone killed the only man who was able to broker any kind of peace.

I tried to swallow, but my mouth had gone dry. Suddenly, ditching this city didn’t seem that bad an idea. I wanted to run for the hills and find a hole to hide in, because this city was dressed in dynamite, and without Bastion to cool tempers, it was about to go off.

And if the syndicates went to war, dozens and dozens of innocent people would get caught in the crossfire. Hundreds would die, and that’s not counting the syndicate casualties. If I ran now, dropped everything and left, maybe I could get out of the city before the shooting started.

But Bastion was killed. He had to be avenged.

“I know this is terrible for you, and I’m so sorry,” I said. “But if this just happened, I have to ask you about things you saw. May I?”

Dr. Ziegler nodded, blowing her nose.

“Thank you. What happened? Did you hear any gunshots? Any screaming?”

“N-no,” she said, gently shaking her head. Her beautiful trusses of hair shone like strands of gold. “I, I was walking into the bar. I had gone out late last night, there was a gunfight at some docks. I thought there would be injuries, but…well, there weren’t any injuries. I came back early in the morning. Bastion let me have the day off, and I slept through most of it.

“But I wanted to help him. I needed to help with this city.” My heart fluttered at the dedication and devotion in her voice. Despite her fear, her face lit up, filled with radiant light and purpose. “People are always hurting each other in this city. I had to go back to help, someone could die because I was being selfish and sleeping. So I went back, when it was getting dark. I…I was taking the back entrance, and I opened the door to the negotiation room, and…and…”

Her features crumbled.

“I found him, lying in a pool of his own blood,” she sobbed, burying her face in her hands. I hesitantly wrapped an arm around her, comforting the beautiful doctor.

“I don’t mean to be callous, but did you hear anything unusual?” I asked. “A door slamming, was someone running away?”

“I, I think I heard someone running,” she said. “Yes, I did. When I walked in, I heard a door closing.”

“Then someone might be running away,” I said.

“T-that’s good? Yes?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “They could have heard you come in, you could have interrupted them. Did you hear any loud sounds before you walked into the bar?”

“No, nothing,” Dr. Ziegler said. “But I took the back entrance, by the train tracks.”

“And let me guess: a train was passing by.”

“It was,” she mumbled.

Use the train to muffle the sounds of gunshots. Damn clever.

“If someone killed Bastion, then they might have wanted to kill you, too,” I said. “Until I find out more, we best assume that you’ve got a target on your back.”

“Kill me?” Dr. Ziegler gasped. “Who would want to kill me?”

“Whoever wanted to kill Bastion, and fucking nobody in this town wanted to kill that man. He was practically a living saint,” I said. “Shit, this is bad news.”

Dr. Ziegler was clearly disheveled. But telling her that someone might want to kill her too was getting to be a bit much for her.

“Come on, I know a person who can hide you,” I said, getting up. “You’ll be safe with her.”

“Thank you,” Dr. Ziegler mumbled, getting to her feet. “God, I forgot. I need to hire you.”

I knew this was coming, but it still came as a bit of a shock.

“Someone killed my friend Bastion,” she said, pulling out her purse. I stopped her.

“We can figure out pricing later,” I said.

“Thank you. Please, find whoever killed Bastion. Bring them to justice.”

“You’re damned sure I will.”

* * *

I knocked on Orisa’s door. Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait very long. Orisa was the only one running her diner, so while it wasn’t twenty-four/seven, she kept very late hours. Orisa opened up quickly. She changed from her work overalls to a simple pair of cotton pants, shirt, and a robe. She was getting ready to turn in for the day.

“Fareeha, this is a surprise,” she said. “Who is this?”

“This is Dr. Ziegler,” I said, gesturing to the blonde woman I had my arm around. She wore her jacket, barely covering the bloodstains. “She needs a safe place to lay low.”

“Dr. Ziegler? Aren’t you helping Bastion?”

Dr. Ziegler’s carefully held façade cracked, but she was able to keep the tears back. I didn’t say anything, but Orisa knew something was wrong.

“What happened?”

“Somebody wacked Bastion,” I said.

Orisa gasped, her hands covering her mouth.

“I think that someone might want to kill the doctor, too,” I continued. “I need a place for her to lie low for a little, at least until I can figure out if she’s a target.”

“Of course,” Orisa stammered. “Come on in, dear. I’ll make something for you.”

“Thank you,” Dr. Ziegler stammered. “Oh, thank you so much.”

I watched Dr. Ziegler walk into Orisa’s small little house. Normally I’d be staring at her ass, but my mind was preoccupied. Someone killed Bastion, and maybe they wanted to kill Dr. Ziegler, too.

Like Hell I was gonna let that happen.

Orisa’s tiny house was right by her diner, walking distance from my shitty apartment. I ran to the alleyway where my car was parked, practically jumping into the driver’s seat. The starter grumbled, but with a little gas to urge it along, it started.

“Thank you, god of rust buckets,” I prayed as I shifted into gear. Soon I was pulling out onto the darkened streets, the yellowed headlights cutting holes in the dark. Even though it was getting close to eleven pm, there was still plenty of traffic in the streets. Fucking shit, what did people do that was so goddamn important this close to midnight?

I tapped at the steering wheel, getting more and more pissed off. Bastion was dead. Someone wanted to start something. Someone wanted to kill the beautiful doctor. I drove like an asshole to get to Bastion’s bar, cutting people off and speeding, but I didn’t care.

The bar was part of the hotel, and had two entrances; one on the street, the other in the hotel. Said hotel loomed in the sky as I pulled up a block away. I couldn’t get closer, the police had cordoned off the whole block, and I wasn’t the only one who was there. Parked along the street were three very fine, very expensive, and very fancy cars. I recognized Reyes’ black car, but there was also a silver beast of a car, and a very prim and pristine cop car. Next to them was a mob of bikers, standing guard over a few fancy Harley-Davidson motorcycles.

Talon, the Shimada clan, the chief of police himself, and the Deadlock Gang. All four players were here.

“Fuck a goddamn duck,” I spat, parking as far away from the nice cars as possible. I ran towards the crime scene, trench coat flapping behind me. I ignored the glares I got from the drivers of the various syndicates. I ran up the block, dodging a few cops, until I was at the tape that was cordoning the public off from the street entrance to the bar. And at that tape were the heads of the syndicates.

Gabriel ‘the Reaper’ Reyes was there with the Widow. Hanzo Shimada stood with a few guards. Calamity Ashe was with Jesse fuckin’ McCree, the closet he ever got to the Widow without bullets flying. And Jack Morrison stood on the other side of the tape trying to get them all to back off.

“This is an active crime scene, we’re still investigating this,” Morrison said.

“Bullshit! Someone hit Bastion! That crap won’t stand!” Ashe raged, living up to her name as a Calamity.

“You’re not going to go on the warpath,” Jack spat.

“The Deadlock Gang is not your only worry,” Hanzo said, voice full of cold fury. “As course as the Calamity is, we cannot let such an act stand.”

I shivered. To say that Ashe and Hanzo had major beef was the understatement of the decade; it was a cold day in Hell when those two agreed on _anything_.

“We’re looking into this,” Jack said.

“Like we can trust you,” Gabriel snorted.

“You can trust that justice will be served,” Jack snapped back.

“But who’s justice?” The Widow asked. “How easy it must be for you to point your finger at one of us, and make the evidence appear out of thin air, yes?”

“That won’t happen this time,” Jack promised.

“I doubt it,” the Widow snorted. “You have done things like this before. How many times was an alibi ready for Gerard? How many times did key evidence walk away? How many times did you stand up for him despite everyone saying he was an abusive motherfucker?”

Everyone was glaring at everyone. Jesus fuck, I was looking at the beginning of a war. And if that happened, this entire city would go up in smoke. Only a massive fucking crater would be left.

I didn’t care what would happen to everyone mobbed up, but if they went to war, the good people of this city would be taken out with it.

“How about we all take a _big _step back and calm the fuck down?” I said, pushing my way up to the tape.

That got everyone to glare at me. Better than having them glare at each other, figuring out when and where to strike first. Hell, maybe Reyes the Reaper had a few men in place, ready to take a shot or twenty.

“What is she doing here?” The Widow spat.

“That’s a good question,” Jack said. “Fareeha, what _are_ you doing here?”

“Trying to step on our toes again, that’s for sure,” Ashe said, glaring daggers at me. “She likes pissing on us.”

“Only because it’s just so much fun to tell you assholes ‘no,’” I said, making my way to the front of the group. “I gotta be the only on in this city who can tell all of you to sit and spin.”

“That doesn’t answer our question,” Jack pressed. “What are you doing here? And don’t bullshit us with you ‘paying respect’ to Bastion.”

“He was a great man, the only one in this city who actually cared about peace,” I said. “Bet you’re right, I’m not here to pay respects. I’m on a job.”

“Horseshit,” Ashe laughed.

“Everyone know Dr. Angela Ziegler?”

“You mean the blonde bombshell?” Jesse McCree asked. “Lord, she’s got a rack to die for.”

Nearly everyone groaned at that. Leave it to Jesse fuckin’ McCree to think about a woman’s tits when there was a murder. Ashe especially glared at him; she got possessive of her play things, especially her bedroom play things.

But he sure as hell wasn’t wrong. Dr. Ziegler had tits that’d stop a train. And if her tits didn’t stop it, the curves of her hips and gams would.

“Yes, the blonde doctor,” I said, keeping my voice even. “She hired me to find Bastion’s killer.”

“Why the fuck would she hire you?” Gabriel asked.

“I don’t know, because I do my own thing? Maybe that has something to do with it?”

“You’re a fucking idiot for staying out in the cold, that’s what you are,” he snapped.

“I also don’t have a hand up my ass, working my mouth like a puppet,” I retorted. “How many cops can say that?”

“This isn’t the time for insults,” Jack snapped.

“I think it is,” I said. “Right now, I’m the only one in this city who hates everyone here equally. Jack? Go fuck yourself. Reyes? Eat shit and die. Ashe? You’re an egotistical bitch and I can’t figure out if you got more balls then most men do, or if you’re just fucking crazy; go jump on your boy toy’s cock or off a pier, either is fine by me. Hanzo…? Alright, you’re the least worst, but you can still fuck off.”

Damn, if looks could kill, I’d be turned into a pillar of salt.

“Is there a point to all this vulgarity, or do you just like listening to your own voice?” Hanzo asked, barely speaking above a growl.

“Of course I’m making a point,” I said. “I’m the last truly independent _anything_ in this town. Bastion was murdered, and I want to find the sonuvabitch who did it and nail their ass to the wall. Everyone here’s already thinking of ways to spin Bastion’s death to their advantage, don’t bother trying to lie about that. Let me find out who did it. I don’t care who gets fed, I just want to see this bastard get eaten.”

Everyone traded looks. I could see the gears spinning; everyone _was _trying to spin Bastion’s death, that much was obvious. But little Ms. Fuck-Up here did her thing and threw a wrench into their plans. But I wasn’t lying: with Bastion dead, I was the last god damn independent in the city. If they let me work this case, they might not get what they want, but they’ll get Bastion’s killer.

I hoped it would be enough. If it wasn’t, a lot of innocent people would die in the crossfire as this town blew up.

“How can we trust you?” Hanzo asked. “You’re an independent. You’re loyal to your paycheck.”

“I’m loyal to the truth,” I corrected. Then I realized I had an opportunity to make rent. “Well, truth _and_ a paycheck, in that order. Right now, Dr. Ziegler hired me. Want to prove that I won’t play favorites? Hire me, too. That way, I’m doubly invested into finishing this job.”

That got everyone grumbling, but Reyes pulled out his wallet first. He handed me a fistful of bills.

“I’m paying you to find Bastion’s killer,” he said, “whoever it is.”

He said that last part while looking at everyone else. It was clear that he was trying to bribe me.

“Same here,” Ashe said, pulling out her wallet. “How much is he paying you?”

“That’s a grand,” Reyes said.

Ashe forked over her own grand.

“Find the shit stain who did this,” she said.

Hanzo was next, paying me my third grand.

“Yes, the killer must be brought to answer for this,” he said. “Alive, so that we may teach him some manners.”

“Jack?” I asked, trying to keep my grin hidden.

Jack was grumbling, but he pulled his wallet out all the same.

“Find his killer, and restore a little trust to us if you can,” he said, handing me the bills.

Holy shit, I just made four grand. I could get a new car!

I folded the money and put it in my pocket, trying to contain my glee. I’m told I have a good poker face, and I sincerely wished it would hold.

“Then I’m on the job,” I said. “Jack, if the police aren’t trusted, I think I should be the one looking at the crime scene.”

“We still have a job to do,” he said. “We still have to document the scene and comb it for clues.”

He trailed off, looking at the sea of syndicate bosses in front of him.

“But, given the…unique nature of this and the fallout it can unleash, we’ll be letting you take the lead on it.”

He was about to lift up the crime scene tape, but stopped.

“You’re not packing heat, are you?”

“Not now.”

“Good. House rules still stand; no guns inside. Zarya insists on it.”

“Nice to know that some things never change. Where is she?”

“Talking to our uniforms, and re-doing security for the building.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

The inside of the bar was nice. Since Bastion became the de facto negotiator of the city, everyone had chipped in to help make his bar one of the nicest around. I always thought it was their way to try and curry favor with him.

It never helped. Bastion was truly independent, not playing favorites. But Torbjörn owned the hotel and bar, and he gladly took their money.

The bar itself was made of mahogany, along with the small tables that filled the rest of the room. Nearly every metal surface was a polished brass, each chair was upholstered in fine leather, each of them felt like you were sitting on a cloud. I got to go to Bastion’s bar once, back when I was a cop, and they had to practically pry me out of that chair.

The glasses were made of fine crystal, and the bar was stocked with every kind of high-end booze you could find, and several you didn’t even know about. Many of the bottles sure as shit confused me. All of this was getting way too rich for my blood.

“Oh, bloody hell.”

I tore my eyes away from the expensive distillery sitting just behind the bar. A tiny Brit was glaring at me, holding a big camera.

“Lena,” I smiled. “Long time.”

“Not long enough,” she said, scowling.

“Lena, come on, it’s been months. Can’t we let this go?”

“Nearly a year,” she said, storming up to me. Lena Oxton was small, and right now, she was angry. Her face was flushed, burning red, her short brown hair tussled about, framing her face perfectly.

I tried not to focus on how adorable she was.

“And that year wasn’t long enough to get over our breakup,” she said.

“Okay, Lena, I know we broke up on less-than-ideal terms—“

“Yelling at each other in public would do that,” she snapped.

“Yeah, I was in a bad place then, I told you I’m sorry.”

“What, so you’re in a better place now?”

“Jesus, Lena, this is a crime scene,” I gasped. “Can we do this somewhere else?”

“You mean some _time _else? Like you always try to push things off?”

Holy fuck, I didn’t need this.

“Lena, we’ll talk later, when we’re not at a murder scene, okay?”

“No, you’re not getting away that easy. Every time I see you, I’m talking to a different Fareeha. I want to talk to this Fareeha, right here, right now.”

“What do you mean, ‘a different me?’ Never mind, fine, tell me what you want to say.”

“I’m with someone else,” she said. “And she’s better for me than you.”

“Congratulations, I’m happy for you, Lena. I really am.”

“So you don’t need to come trying to crash back into my life, wrecking what I have.”

“I’m not trying to mess things up for you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she snorted. “You were pretty damn insistent last night.”

“What do you mean, last night?”

“Jesus, you really _were_ shitfaced,” Lena said. “You can’t remember anything?”

“I didn’t call you.”

“Oh, yes you did. You called me up out of the blue, when I was with my new girl Emily. And you said you wanted me back.”

“Oh, fuck my life…”

“Well, guess what? You can’t get back in it.”

“I didn’t…look, blackout me is a real bitch.”

“Don’t think you can get away that easily. I can’t yell at blackout Fareeha, so I’m yelling at you.”

Lena was glaring at me something awful, which didn’t help how I was feeling. She was glaring at me so hard, she was trying to kill me with her glare. But she was also flushed, blushing heavily. And she stood ram-rad straight. I knew that mood of hers, she was trying to hide something.

Then I saw her pupils; they were dilated. Her wrists were shaking, and her legs were pressed together like she was trying to crack a walnut between them. I knew those moods of hers all too well; she was hot and bothered.

She might say she was done with me, but I suddenly realized that she still wanted me. The gears in my head started turning. She was going out of her way to shut me down, beating a dead horse about it. But she was also embarrassed.

“I didn’t…” I stammered. “I mean, I didn’t…offer something between you and your new girlfriend, did I…?”

“So you remember now?”

“No, I’m guessing.”

Lena blushed a little harder, but she also got angrier.

“You said you wanted to drag me to bed, and you wouldn’t mind someone else joining us.”

“Fuck a duck, I’m a goddamn wreck,” I groaned.

“How’d you figure _that_ out?” Lena snapped.

If I offered a threesome with Lena and her new girl, and Lena was this embarrassed about it, maybe it meant she was in the doghouse. Maybe she _wanted_ me to jump in bed with her and her girlfriend.

That would certainly explain why she was so pissed at me.

“You said her name is Emily, right? She…sounds good for you.”

“Thanks. She is. So butt out.”

“Want me to call Emily, tell her you’re all hers?”

“I think you’ve already done enough.”

“Right. For what it counts, I’m sorry.”

“Good. Now get out of here.”

“Yeah, that’s the thing,” I sighed. “I’m hired to find Bastion’s killer.”

“You’re not a cop anymore.”

“Exactly. Dr. Ziegler hired me, as did the heads of the four syndicates. They can’t trust the cops to do a good job, which is where I come in.”

“Oh bloody hell, it’s because you’re independent, aren’t ya?” Lena groaned.

“That’s exactly it. Lena, I’m sorry, but you’ll probably be seeing a lot of me tonight.”

Lena glared at me. I could tell she was excited about being near me, but she also hated herself for getting that excited. Eventually, she slowly nodded.

“Stay away from me when I’m not at work.” Lena nodded to the back room. “He’s in there.”

Whatever triumphant feeling I had was gone. Lord, I wanted to curl up and disappear; blackout me was an asshole. Then again, I’ve heard that regular stone-cold sober me is an asshole, too. Guess it was a trait that didn’t change regardless of who was driving.

I walked into the back room. There were a few cops milling about, dusting for prints and the such; Lena came back in, and got to taking pictures. This place used to be a storage room, but with Bastion becoming the city’s negotiator, it was renovated, turned into an office. By the rear door was a small, cheap desk that Bastion always used.

Dominating the room was a tall, long mahogany table with just shy of a dozen high-backed plush leather chairs sitting around it. Many a deal had been hammered out at that table, and many potential gang wars were foiled there as well. Bastion was the only one who really cared about the peace, and the innocent people that would die if a war broke out.

Against the wall was a splattering of blood, and Bastion was lying on the ground a foot in front of it, a pool of drying blood leaking from his abdomen and head. He was dressed in his usual bar attire; white dress shirt, black vest, black dress pants. He was earning money most people in this city could ever dream of, not without joining one of the four factions. But he hated the money that was thrown at him, and pretty much exclusively lived on his bartender pay. He didn’t even accept the bar renovation money; then again, it wasn’t his bar, but Torbjörn’s. And Torbjörn was a lot more interested in money than Bastion was.

Bastion was on his back, staring at the ceiling with glassy eyes.

“Jesus H. Christ, you didn’t even close his eyes?” I groaned. “Come on, where’s your sense of decency?”

“Active crime scene, Amari,” Lena snapped. “We try not to mess with it.”

“He deserves this much.”

“It isn’t procedure. We wait for the all-clear from Jack, and _only_ then. Back away from the body.”

“Jack isn’t the one in charge of this right now, I am.”

“What?” Lena sputtered. The cops and detectives investigating the scene turned to stare at me. “Like hell you are! Ziegler hired you to find the killer, that means you work with us.”

“Lena, you know what will happen if the cops pin this murder on anyone?” I said. “It’d be the opening shot of a gang war.”

“We won’t pin this on anyone,” she spat.

“No offense, but you don’t have enough good will to bank on that. People don’t believe you, which is why I’m here. Don’t look at me like that, you know it’s the truth.

“Dr. Ziegler hired me to find the killer, as did all the heads of the syndicates,” I continued. “They trust me, because none of them have a hand on me. I don’t care who comes out on top, as long as the fucker who did this gets what’s coming to them.”

I didn’t need to point at Bastion’s body.

“Jack backed me taking this job because this prevents a war. I’m not working alongside him on this case, I’m working the entire case for him. He let me because he knows how much shit would go down if everyone goes to war. And you do, too.”

Lena grudgingly nodded. She knew we had to avoid a war.

“Alright then,” she said tightly. “You’re calling the shots, yeah?”

“I am. You keep doing what you’re doing, we need to document everything. But I’m closing Bastion’s eyes.”

“Good.” Lena paused. “We…I wanted to, too. But Jack wanted the white glove treatment on this; nothing disturbed until he said so.”

“I get that, I do. But we need to be good to Bastion, especially now.”

Lena nodded. I knelt down, gently closing his eyes. The uniforms and detectives lowered their head out of respect, then went back to work.

“What now?” Lena asked.

“Keep doing what you’re doing, I’ll do my own thing.”

“Just like old times, eh?” Lena smiled.

Then she remembered she was trying to be angry at me. I chuckled as she blushed and went back to grumbling and cursing at me. I knew she still wanted me. I wanted her too, but I made myself think about her girlfriend, Emily.

Lena and I might do the whole on-again-off-again-always-fighting thing, and we might be fine with it, but it would destroy her new girlfriend; I didn’t need to meet her to know that. So for Emily’s sake, I tried to keep my mind off Lena and her beautiful ass.

Fucking shit, I’m a useless lesbian.

I focused on the murder. Bastion was shot multiple times. Entry wounds were in his belly, chest, and head.

“Do we have a time of death?”

“Coroner says a little over an hour ago, maybe just before ten pm,” Lena said.

“Whoever did this wasn’t fucking around,” I said. “What do you think of the blood splatter on the wall?”

“It doesn’t fit with the gunshots. See this? Lots of blood, but not nearly enough if they popped him in the head right away.”

Lena’s glib nature didn’t bother me. This was neither my nor her first rodeo. The first few dead bodies both of us saw, we ended up puking. But as the routine of police work set it, we got used to it, numb. Then came the grim remarks. All part of the job, all part of the adjusting to the terrible and the morbid, all part of the black humor to help bear with the unbearable.

“Yeah, I don’t see any brain on the wall,” I said. “Jesus, that means this was execution style. First couple shots were probably in his belly, knocking him down. Then twice in the heart, and once in the head.”

“Cold-hearted fucker,” Lena spat.

“Any idea on the caliber?”

“Sure ain’t a forty-five, I can tell you that. But we haven’t rolled him over to check the exit wounds.”

I reached into my jacket’s breast pocket, pulling out a thin pair of cheap, fake leather gloves.

“Let’s check.”

Lena set her camera down, and donned her own pair of gloves. We gently rolled Bastion onto his side.

“Pretty tidy holes,” Lena said.

“’Tidy’ and ‘gunshot holes’ don’t go together too often, but I’ll have to agree with you on this,” I said. “That rules out larger calibers.”

Lena kept Bastion on his side as she took photographs.

“I’m gonna take a look around,” I said, peeling off my gloves. “I think maybe the killer hid the gun.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Remember when I said Dr. Ziegler hired me? She told me she heard someone running away when she walked into the bar. If we can’t find the gun here, maybe they ditched it.”

“Where is Ziegler?”

“Somewhere safe,” I said. “If someone killed Bastion, it’s possible they wanted to kill her, too.”

“That’s good,” Lena said. “She’s too beautiful to get killed.”

“Oh, so I’m off limits, but Dr. Ziegler isn’t?”

“She’s a knockout, you can’t deny that.”

“Then let me guess: she’s on either you or Emily’s ‘free pass’ list.”

“Hell no! If Emily had the chance to sleep with Dr. Ziegler, I told her she better damn well invite me!” Lena said. “And I’ll return the favor.”

Groaning and rolling my eyes, I walked to the back door. Dr. Ziegler said she walked in through the back, so I might as well start there. The back door led to a long hallway. At one end was the door to the rear parking lot, where the hotel workers parked. Further along the hallway were rough bathrooms and a boiler room.

If Dr. Ziegler walked in through this hallway, the killer would have to go out another way. That meant he’d be leaving through the hotel.

The walls rumbled as a train passed by. The train wasn’t too loud, but in the small hallway, the sound compounded, bouncing off the small walls. No wonder Dr. Ziegler didn’t hear a gunshot; it was a damn miracle that she heard herself think, let alone someone running away. It also made me wonder how the killer could have heard her coming, too, but I had enough to focus on.

I walked out, towards the main entrance to Bastion’s office. The front entrance to the office, of course, led to the bar. But there was also a small hallway it connected to, leading to some tiny bathrooms. A bar this fancy wouldn’t tolerate having small bathrooms for their patrons; there restrooms were for the much more expendable working staff.

I looked around. There were two entrances to the bar; one led to the street, the other led to the hotel’s lobby.

“Lena,” I yelled over my shoulder, “did anyone see a man running out through the main hotel entrance?”

“That’s a big ‘no,’” she said, raising her voice a little. “No disturbances, neither in the hotel, nor the street exit.”

That meant whomever killed Bastion wasn’t in a hurry; they were blending in. That meant they might’ve ditched the murder weapon.

Bastion was most likely killed with a pistol, but the hotel and bar were staffed with people who could recognize a concealed pistol. This place was hallowed ground; when you walked in, you either turned in your gun, or your bullets. No one could bring anything in unless they checked it with Zarya and hotel management.

I took the bar entrance to the hotel and walked over to the front desk. Torbjörn was there, answering a few questions to some cops. And towering over him was his head of security, Zarya.

And I thought I was big. Zarya stood even taller than me, and had to have my weight in pure muscles. She wore pants, a shirt, and a vest, almost budging out of it.

“Hey Zarya.”

“Fareeha,” she nodded. Her hair was cut short, and she had dyed it again. Zarya wanted to die her hair red, but her hair was too black to let the red take hold; it ended up a shocking pink.

“You know, I kind of like the pink look,” I said.

Zarya gave me a look that told me she wouldn’t buy my attempt at flattery.

“Seriously, it fits you.”

“Thank you,” she said, a little more relaxed.

“See anything strange tonight?”

“Nothing,” she said, arms crossed over her chest. “It was ordinary.”

“You didn’t see a certain blonde doctor run out, did you?”

“No, I didn’t see Dr. Ziegler,” she said. “The only people coming in through the front were guests.”

“What about the rear?”

“No one reported anything. As best I can tell, my men at the back were changing guard duty when it happened. They only report seeing Dr. Ziegler run away.”

“Shit. So no one trying to leave with a gun.”

“No one came in with a gun, let alone left with it,” Zarya said. “One of my men stopped Genji Shimada, but he gave up his bullets. We still have them.”

“Don’t tell me he’s back to fucking whores again,” I groaned. “He just got in the shit with Moira.”

“Some people can’t be told that a stove is hot; they have to touch it and learn for themselves,” Zarya said. “Genji is the kind who forgets that he burned his hand.”

“Isn’t that the damn truth,” I sighed. “Thanks Zarya.”

Zarya nodded as I walked off. Zarya had no chill, and she did _not _fuck around; she was a stone-cold professional, dedicated to enforcing the hallowed ground rule this hotel had. Neither her nor her men would let anyone into the hotel with both a gun and bullets.

Money couldn’t buy them, which meant that the killer left without making a scene, which was totally believable, given how tight a ship Zarya ran. The way Bastion was killed marked this prick as a careful killer. So if he couldn’t get a gun into the hotel, then how the fuck did he kill Bastion?

One step at a time, Fareeha. Find the gun first.

I walked back to the bar. If I were a killer, where would I hide a gun…?

A little further back, behind the bar, were the little staff bathrooms. The door to those bathrooms was right by Bastion’s office; only a few feet separated them. Bastion was killed close to the door to the bar; the killer could have somehow heard Angela over the racket of the train, open the door, walk into the hallway, and made it to the bathrooms before she got into the office. It was certainly possible.

Women killers, or women hit men, were a rarity in this city. Calamity Ashe and the Widow were the two biggest names on a very short list. Thing is, Bastion’s murder wasn’t Ashe’s M.O. She was a ‘kick down the door leave a body count and a calling card’ kinda woman. And the Widow was tight with Bastion. He put her up in the hotel back when Gerard would hit her. Of course, that was before the Widow finally had enough of Gerard’s shit and killed him.

Allegedly.

With the two big names out of the way, it stood to reason that the killer was a man. That meant he’d think that the detectives investigating this would think like a man, and not a woman.

I went into the women’s bathroom. There were two tiny stalls and a rinky-dink sink. Typical worker’s bathroom. The patrons probably had a giant, glitzy marble bathroom to relieve themselves in.

Both stalls were empty. I went into the first one, grabbing the porcelain lid to the toilet tank, and lifted it up. Nothing; just water, the floater ball, and the other odd bits of a toilet. I put the lid back, and went to the second one.

Jackpot.

Sitting at the bottom of the water filled tank was a revolver. I rolled up my sleeves and gingerly fished it out up by the butt with my thumb and index finger. Using my coat to keep my fingerprints off it as best I could, I pressed the release, and the cylinder rolled out. Six bullets sat in it, with a shiny .38 stamped on the bottom; five were used, the rims indented with the hammer mark.

Five bullets shot. Two were put into Bastion’s guts, two into his heart, and the fifth into his head. All bullets were accounted for. Zarya and her men had searched the building for guns, making sure nothing was brought in; this meant this gun was in the hotel before Zarya was hired to be the chief of security. That meant someone had a gun here before Bastion became the go-to negotiator. That meant one thing: Bastion was killed by a gun that was already in the hotel.

“I need a bag,” I said, walking back into the office. “Found the murder weapon.”

“Shit, where was it?” Lena asked.

“Women’s bathroom, second stall toilet tank.”

“Must be a man who killed him.”

“Exactly my thinking.”

A uniform came over with a bag, and I dropped the gun in it.

“That’s a British gun,” Lena said, looking at it. “Enfield No. 2. Popular sidearm in the War. How did it get in here?”

“I have a theory,” I said, walking to Bastion’s small desk at the back of the room. I pulled open some drawers until I found a box. Opening it, there was some plush fabric, and the indent of a revolver, just as I suspected. A card was taped to the top of the box.

_To Chris, for dragging my ass out of the fire and mud, _it read.

“This was Bastion’s gun,” I said, showing the box.

“Holy shit, Bastion had a gun?” Lena gasped. “Did you know?”

“Fuck no I didn’t. Looks like someone gave it to him as a thank you.”

“That’s Kingsman card stock. They’re famous tailors in Britain; they make suits for lords and the Crown,” Lena said, pointing at the card. On the middle was a watermark, a circle with a ‘K’ lying sideways. The mark was repeated on a stamp on the bottom right corner.

“Fareeha, I think you’re onto something. Look at the casings; the bullets were made by Webley & Scott. A gun is one thing, but it was packing actual War ammunition from across the pond. This thing had to be a gift when Bastion was in the War; he must’ve had this before he became the negotiator.”

“Whoever knew he had this thing knew Bastion,” I said. “This hit was planned out to a ‘T.’”

“I thought this day couldn’t get any worse,” Lena said. “Someone wanted Bastion dead, and they knew how to do it.”

“Bitterly poetic, when you think about it?”

“What do you mean?”

“He wasn’t killed by some random gun,” I said. “Bastion got rained on with his own thirty-eight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this fic was inspired by [ Small Change, by Tom Waits.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vvGW4A_EI24) Give it a listen!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flushed with cash, Fareeha gets a new car, and questions the blonde angel to get an idea of who would want Bastion dead.

I woke up easier than I had in the past few days. Then again, the past few days I woke up hung over to high hell. But with this case, and the potential war that would tear this city a new asshole or three, I went to bed sober. I ended up waking up feeling much more refreshed than I had in a long time. Maybe I should do what Orisa said and cut out the drinking, if only to sleep better.

But, knowing my asshole self, that’d only last a few days. A week, tops.

Rolling out of bed, I took a quick shower, dressed, and sat at my desk, flipping through the notes I took at the crime scene. There wasn’t much, so I lit a cigarette and got to work.

As it stood, the only things I knew was that Bastion was killed with his own gun. I didn’t know a lot, but what I didn’t know was helping me, too. I knew that the killer knew Bastion; he knew that Bastion had a gun inside the hotel, which meant he didn’t have to sneak one in past Zarya and her team. I knew that the killer had an escape plan, and would’ve gotten away with it if a regular detective was on the case. And I knew the killer planned on starting a war.

That meant they didn’t expect me, a private eye, to be on the case. It was obvious that this hit was meticulously planned; meticulous planning meant it would be very hard to catch the bastard. But it also meant that not a lot could go wrong. And I got the feeling that I, little Ms. Fuck-Up, was just enough of a curve ball to gunk up the works.

But what I didn’t know was a little daunting. I didn’t know who would want to kill Bastion, for what reason, and where they might be hiding.

Easy, Fareeha. Just like mom always said, how do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.

Speaking of eating, I gathered up my jacket. I had to get some grub, and give someone some good news.

The sky was, once again, overcast. It looked like it was going to rain for the third day in a row. I wished Mother Nature would just get on with it, the bitch. Turning my collar up, I lit another cigarette and went to Orisa’s. I’d tell Dr. Ziegler it didn’t look like someone was trying to kill her.

Walking into Orisa’s diner, I was surprised to see it fuller than it normally was. Then I saw Dr. Ziegler waiting tables.

I stopped dead in my tracks. Dr. Ziegler was wearing simple work clothes, a simple dress that was just a little too big on her, a dirty apron, and a kerchief covering her hair. Her blonde locks spilled out down her back, giving her a washer woman look.

She was both bussing and waiting tables, a radiant smile on her face. The men who frequented Orisa’s diner were beaming back at her. She smiled and laughed with them, moving about like an old pro. Orisa would whip up a plate full of food, ring a bell, then Dr. Ziegler would zip on over, and bring the food to the lucky person. And if the stuffed front pocket of her apron was any indication, the beautiful blonde was rolling in tips.

She seemed absolutely normal, utterly stress-free.

“Dr. Ziegler? Is that you?” I asked.

She looked up with beautiful cerulean eyes.

“Ms. Amari! It’s so good to see you,” she beamed. “Would you like a table, or a spot at the bar?”

“Uh, table, please.”

“This way!”

I was too stunned to object. Dr. Ziegler led me to a spot by the bar and grill. I was close enough to talk to Orisa if I raised my voice over her stove.

“Cup of coffee for you?” She asked.

“Yes, please.”

Dr. Ziegler spun away and came back seconds later with a big pot, as light on her feet as anything I’ve ever seen. She poured me a cup, and I want to fixing it to my liking, crème and sugar.

“Would you like a moment to look at the menu?” She asked. “Or do you know what you’re getting.”

“Orisa should have me covered,” I said. “But, what are you doing here? I thought you were lying low with Orisa.”

Dr. Ziegler’s eyes fell a little.

“I…I couldn’t stay in a house all day,” she said. “I have to do things. I have to be useful. I can’t simply stay put.”

“So you work with Orisa? Isn’t this a little beneath you?”

“Oh please, I waited tables to pay my way through university,” she laughed, recovering some grace. “This is nothing. I worked at much, much busier places.”

“Well, color me surprised. But how did you talk Orisa into letting you work?”

“I’m not getting paid, this is just to keep me sane.”

“She’s a charmer,” Orisa said, walking up with a plate of food for me.

“Thanks, Orisa.”

“You’re welcome.” She set the plate of food in front of me and crossed her arms. “But I don’t want her working for free forever. How long does she need to be kept low?”

“Actually, I got good news about that,” I said, mouth full of eggs and diced potatoes. “I don’t think Dr. Ziegler is a target for whoever wacked Bastion.”

“Oh, that’s good,” she sighed. “But please, call me Angela. I’m only Dr. Ziegler when I’m patching people back up.”

“Alright, Angela it is,” I smiled. “I don’t think anyone wants to kill you. You could go back home tonight if you wanted.”

“That is good news,” Orisa said. “Both for her health, and for hospitality.”

“Orisa, please, you were an amazing hostess. I can’t thank you enough,” Angela said.

“No, I didn’t mean _my_ hospitality, I meant yours,” Orisa said. “I can’t be making you work for free. It’s not how anything in this city works.”

“But I’m not working for free. I’m working to help me fight this stress.”

“Now you’re just splitting hairs.”

“Careful there, Angela,” I laughed. “You won’t be changing Orisa’s mind anytime soon. She’s a fortification of stubbornness.”

“Damn straight I am!” Orisa said, beaming with pride.

“Angela, if you got some time, I’d like to ask you some questions.”

“Not at all, I’ve gotten all of the orders are in, it looks like we’re hitting a lull.”

“Then have a seat.”

Angela sat across from me. Orisa went back to the kitchen. Time to be a private eye and not an ogling eye.

“I’m sorry if I get you worked up,” I said, taking out a notepad and pen, “but I have to ask you questions.”

“Of course,” Angela said, brushing her hair back. Because of the kerchief in her hair, she didn’t have to do it; it was just a nervous tick. The poor thing was still in shock; waiting tables must be the only thing really keeping her together. Frankly, I couldn’t blame her.

“How did you find Bastion?”

“He…he was lying face up, staring at the ceiling,” she said.

“And you said you heard the gunshots in the back hallway?”

“I did.”

“Over the sound of the train?”

“They were thumps,” she said. “I guess I realized they were gunshots after I found Bastion.”

“And what did you think of the blood?”

Angela paused.

“I, I’ve seen blood before,” she said. “I’m a doctor, I have to. But, seeing it so suddenly…When I wasn’t expecting it…”

Tears welled in her eyes.

“It just took me by surprise. I didn’t have time to prepare for it, and…and seeing it from Bastion, seeing him lying there…I’m sorry, it’s, it was just too much.”

“How much blood did you see?”

“I, there wasn’t too much, not then. But if I heard him get shot, it might not have time to pool.”

She wasn’t giving anything up. Which was good, I’d hate to suspect her for anything. Still, I had to press her, cross her name of the list of potential suspects. As it stood, she was the only one on that list.

“Where was he shot?”

“I…I didn’t get a good look,” she mumbled. “There was red on his belly, atd leaking from his head.”

“You said you ran away. Did you see who Zarya had stationed at the hotel?”

“N-no, I don’t…” Angela took a second to dab her eyes with her apron. “There weren’t any men at the back. I thought I heard them laughing, but they weren’t there. And when…when I ran, they still weren’t there.”

Zarya said she thinks her men were changing guard duty when the wack happened; that matched with what Angela was telling me.

“And why run to me?”

“Everyone else in this city is in someone’s pockets,” she stammered. “As I ran, I realized that if I went to them, Bastion wouldn’t get real justice. The syndicates, they’d just find a fall guy, someone they could string up. Bastion deserves more than the quickest possible answer, he…he didn’t deserve to die, not like that…”

Angela was about to cry. I knew I was pushing her hard, and I felt like an utter bastard for doing it.

“I’m sorry,” I said, doing my best not to mumble. I ended up gently taking her hand. It was so dainty, so soft. “I know this is tough, and I hate pushing you so hard, but I have to do my job, and that job means I have to start somewhere.”

“N-no, I understand,” she said. “I came to you because of your reputation of being the best, and only, independent private eye”

“Hopefully that’s the only reputation you heard about me.”

Angela laughed at that.

“Oh, no it wasn’t,” she said. “The first thing I heard about you was how everyone in the syndicates spits at you for hating them.”

“I don’t play favorites, I hate them all equally,” I grinned.

“Yes, I heard that, too,” Angela laughed. “You’re the last independent in the city. I need that right now. I need to find who killed…who killed Bastion. I don’t want a fall guy.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” I said. “I’m finding the bastard who did this.”

“And questioning me is the first step?”

“I have to understand what you saw, what you know, and cross you off the list as a suspect.”

“Did I pass?”

“With flying colors,” I smiled.

“Oh, that’s good,” Angela smiled. “I would hate to be swept up in this.”

“No shit. There’s a lot of heat coming down on this. I almost feel sorry for the bastard who did this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone liked Bastion. His death is pissing a lot of people off,” I said. “So when I find this bastard, everyone’s gonna want to take a piece out of him, and they’re gonna be real slow about it.”

Angela’s face grew hard at that. She knew how much Bastion meant to this city, and she knew of the people who relied on him for compromise. But instead of tearing up, a look of determination grew on her face.

“Good,” she said. “Good.”

Damn, this woman even makes spite look fucking hot.

“Then you know what I gotta do,” I said. “Oh, and by the way, slip this to Orisa.”

I handed her a few small bills. Twenty bucks for breakfast was excessive, but thanks to this case, I had the money to repay Orisa’s kindness.

“But Orisa said you eat for free.”

“Orisa says a lot of things,” I said, giving her a lopsided grin.

“Ah. I’ll make sure she doesn’t know it was you,” Angela smiled.

“You’re a doll.”

* * *

I always wanted to get a new car when I had the money. Now that I was buying one, I was oddly sad to see my heap of rust go.

“You really think you can get a few bucks off this?” The mechanic snorted. “Lady, you should be paying me to take this off your hands!”

“I know, it’s nothing to look at, but it’s got a new engine filter and rear struts, less than a hundred miles on both of them.”

I showed him the bill from when I got the parts installed two weeks ago. He looked at it, his eyes wondering how he could spin this to his advantage.

“Yank ‘em from the car, and sell ‘em to the less financially stable customers,” I said, pressing the advantage. “They’d love to buy cheap parts, and you know they’re good, so they won’t be coming at you if their car died again.”

“How much?” He asked.

“I’m already buying a new car from you, so how about you knock thirty-five dollars off the bill?”

“Twenty.”

“Those parts are worth more than twenty.”

“Twenty-two.”

“Thirty-two.”

The mechanic glared at me. I glared back.

“Twenty-five,” he said. “Lowest I’ll go.”

I made a show of thinking it over. I was actually aiming for twenty, but haggling was an art, and I wanted to make it seem like he was getting a better deal.

“Fine,” I groaned, holding my hand out. He shook it.

“Let’s get you written up.”

I followed him back into the dealership’s office, where we signed some papers, and I used some of the money I got from Bastion’s case to buy myself a brand newish car.

“You sure you don’t want to get the plates through me?”

“I got a connection,” I said.

“Suit yourself.” He handed me the pink slip and the keys.

“Thank you,” I said, taking both.

I walked out, looking at my newish car. I couldn’t help but grin. It was used, but only had one other user, some guy who thought he’d be getting more money from something, but ended up having that good thing fall through. His loss, my gain.

My new car was a hot Ford. It wasn’t Reyes’ all-black monster; mine wore a rich blue paint job, with thick whitewall wheels, some shiny chrome hubcaps that were bronzed to look like gold, and a long bonnet. It was the standard model, but what really made me proud was the golden ‘V8’ badge that sat on both sides of the long bonnet.

She might be the base model, but she had the goods. I was itching to drop the hammer on the test drive; the previous owner had done some tinkering to kick up the horsepower. I had to seem a little in control of myself during the test drive, but now that she was mine, and with no monthly payments…?

I climbed in, stepped on the clutch, and cranked the engine, hearing that V8 roar to life. It gave me gooseflesh, and a grin was quickly plastered all across my dumb mug.

My new baby had four gears on the floor, all of them waiting to be used. I ended up smoking the rear tires as I launched myself onto the road, my heart beating wildly in my chest as I fed her another gear.

“Oh, I am _so_ in love with you!”

With my old rust heap, I always stayed to the right of the road, with the old ladies who drive on Sundays and those who were too messed up to drive fast. But now, I was flying in the left hand lanes, feeling the power of a Ford V8. How did I live before?

“You need a name,” I grinned as I kicked it into fourth. I passed some guy in a Chevrolet, and I saw him stare at me; he was surprised he got passed both by a Ford _and_ a girl.

“You’re a predator,” I grinned, feeding more gas to my baby. “You’re not some gentle kind of bird, are you girl?”

The engine hummed along beautifully.

“No shit you’re not! You’re a bird of prey, a raptor. Raptor? Not bad, but you need a little feminine punch to it. Oh, I got it; Raptora. You like that?”

My bird of prey seemed to enjoy it.

“Raptora it is,” I grinned. “But first, we gotta get you street legal. That means paying a visit to good ol’ Mom.”

I was going faster than I thought I was; I nearly missed my turn off the main road. I heel-toed shifted, something I would never dream of doing in my old rust bucket, and took the turn way too fast. But Raptora held in there, tires screaming. Oh, I loved this thing!

The police station was large, and built from tan-colored bricks. It was four stories tall, and I used to think it looked grand, imposing, and majestic. But since I’ve seen the rot that infected every square inch of it, it just seemed threatening. Justice was for those who paid for it; all others can fuck off. Fortunately, my Raptora’s growl kept me in good spirits.

I got a few shifty eyes as I flew into the parking lot for the police station. I ignored the cops, and claimed a parking spot for myself. I strutted in, a grin still plastered upside my face.

The jockeys at the front desk looked up, and glared as they saw me.

“You crawling back?” One asked.

“Nope,” I said. “Dropping by to see Mom.”

I didn’t even wait for them to give me permission. I just strutted on in like a damn peacock, winding my way through the hallways I knew like the back of my hand. Eventually, I found my mom’s office and knocked.

“Come in.”

I opened the door, and my mother groaned.

“Just great,” she sighed.

“Let me guess: you were thinking how this day could get worse,” I said.

Mom gave me a heavy look. The War had taken her right eye from her, and she covered it up with a patch. At first her patch looked like something a pirate would wear, but she grew tired of all the pirate impersonations she heard behind her back. So she changed to a patch that looked more like a stretch of cloth than a rounded piece of fabric on a string. It was blue, like her uniform.

She might have one eye left, but that left eye of hers was filled with all the emotion of two eyes, even though the rest of her face was heavy and neigh unchanging. Other than the eye, the only real sign that my mother was aging was her slowly graying hair and the slowly encroaching wrinkles.

“Let me guess,” mom said, “you’re _not_ here to re-join the police force, and end this hysterical rebellious streak of yours.”

“’Fraid not, Mom.”

“Then this day has gotten worse indeed,” she spat. “What do you want?”

“Come on, Mom, is that a way to treat your daughter?” I grinned.

“It is when she’s a disappointment to everything I’ve built,” she retorted. “Either get out, or get rid of that shit-eating grin.”

“Sorry Mom, but I’m here for a favor,” I said. “I got a new car, and need a license plate.”

“Since when were you able to afford a car?”

“Since everyone hired me to find Bastion’s killer.”

“That’s right,” she groaned, “I heard how you extorted Jack last night.”

“’Extorted?’ I did no such thing. Jack had the option to not pay me, but he chose to.”

“So he could either pay you to be impartial, or not pay you and risk having you pin Bastion’s murder on one of our officers,” Mom said. “That’s one hell of a choice. I can see why he took it.”

“My income is X, my expenses are Y; as long as X is bigger than Y, there’s no problem.”

Mom glared at me. She used that line on me when I started asking too many uncomfortable questions about our finances; namely how she and the police always seemed to have money to burn.

“I don’t remember raising my daughter to be such a bitch,” she hissed.

“Hey mom, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” I smiled right back.

Mom renewed her glare on me. I just kept smiling.

“Fine,” she grumbled, getting up from her desk. “Let’s get you sorted and out of my hair.”

“Still playing second fiddle to Jack?” I asked as we walked down the hall.

“The Chief of Police can’t be a woman, you know the rules.”

“So you let yourself be taken down a few pegs? Or do you not want to step on his toes?”

“Fareeha, you know as well as I do that this city has to do things a certain way,” she snapped.

“One of the reasons I never took a shining to this place.”

“Jack called in favors to help you,” she pressed. “He bent over backwards to get you on board, and this is how you repay him?”

“Jack wanted me to play a part that I couldn’t play,” I said. I could feel my good mood slipping out from my fingers, replaced with the old flames of rage. “I just did what was natural to me.”

“Always thinking of yourself over others,” Mom sighed. “I wish you were born a month earlier; you’d have gotten shipped off to the War, and you’d know what it meant to be part of a team, to do what was necessary.”

“Thanks, Mom. I love you, too.”

We made our way to the registration desk. Seeing Mom, the office worker sat up straighter.

“She needs new license plates,” Mom said. “I take it you have the paperwork for your end?”

I handed over the pink slip, and the office worker handed me back a form. I went to filling it out. Mom lit a cigarette as I wrote everything out.

“Do I have the right to assume this not-so-courteous call is not just about license plates?” She asked.

“You really are a great detective,” I said. “It isn’t. I need the crime scene reports for Bastion’s murder, and autopsy if they have it.”

“Then your timing is still good as ever.”

I finished the paperwork, and handed it back to the office worker.

“Get these done as soon as possible,” Mom said. “We’ll be getting some paperwork, and be back in ten minutes.”

“Ma’am,” the man nodded. I saw him run off as soon as Mom turned on her heel and walked away.

“Do you have any leads so far?” She asked.

“Not yet,” I said, following. “It was a professional hit. Someone wants to start something, you can figure that out, right?”

“I might be down an eye, but I’m not blind,” she snorted.

“Then can you try to talk Jack down from doing anything stupid, like launching the opening shot of a mob war?” I asked. “I mean, you’re fucking him, might as well put that to good use.”

“God’s sake, Fareeha, I’m not just fucking him, I’m living with him,” Mom snapped.

“Yeah, but fucking is pretty high on the list, right?”

Mom glared at me.

“I wasn’t lying when I said the apple didn’t fall far from the tree,” I said. “If my drives and habits are any indication, you’re just as active as I am.”

“Taste in genitalia aside.”

“Hey, I’m not one-hundred-percent like you.”

“If only you were; I’d never have to deal with this goddamn independent bullshit you put on,” she said.

“If I said it wasn’t a phase, would you believe me?” I groaned.

“Absolutely not.”

“Then I’ll save my breath.”

We made our way through the station, coming up on a very familiar desk. Lena was sitting down, her head in her hand, nearly falling asleep.

“Good morning, Ms. Oxton,” Mom said, raising her voice a little.

Lena snapped awake with a jerk, trying to look busy. Then she realized it was my mom she was trying to bullshit; she wouldn’t get any mercy from her.

“G-good morning, First Deputy,” she stammered.

“What were you doing?” Mom asked.

“Uh…” Lena knew she was fucked. “I was trying not to sleep, and failing.”

I chuckled. Lena was throwing herself to the mercy of the court. Normally a bad thing with my mom, but if Lena took responsibility and sucked up, she just might get away with it.

“Is the work we give you beneath you?” Mom pressed. “Or do we not give you enough?”

“You give me enough, ma’am, it’s just the work got to me,” Lena said. She reached into her desk, and pulled out a manila folder. “I was up all night making calls to London. Ran the serial number of Bastion’s gun with a few agencies, tracked down the original owner, I was even able to find out where the munitions came from.”

Lena handed the folder over, but hesitated when she saw me. In her exhausted mind, she perked up a little at the sight of me. Then she got the better of herself; she was still trying to be mad at me.

“Thanks, Lena,” I said, gently taking the folder. “What were you able to find?”

“The gun was issued to a Jeff Kaplan,” Lena said. “Infantry officer, a simple sergeant. Bastion was assigned to a unit that worked with ‘em, earned a Distinguished Service Order award for saving Kaplan and his unit single-handedly.”

“You mean to tell me Bastion killed a bunch of Nazis?” I snorted.

“No, he dragged them all out of the fire,” Lena said. “Literally. Kaplan and his unit took a Kraut bunker, but the Kraut bastards left some firebombs behind; scorched earth stuff, they weren’t fuckin’ ‘bout. Bombs went off, trapped Kaplan and his unit inside. Bastion ran through literal fire to grab a shovel to douse the flames, all while the retreating Krauts took potshots at him. According to Kaplan’s write-up, Bastion just ignored the bullets that damn near killed him.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, who’d have thunk Bastion was such a bad ass?” Lena said. “Kaplan gave ‘em his pistol to show his thanks. As far as anyone can tell, that gun has been with Bastion since he got back from the War.”

“And Torbjörn hasn’t seen Bastion with it?”

“Torbjörn knew what Bastion did to earn his medal, but he didn’t know he also got a gun as a show of thanks.”

“And Torbjörn wouldn’t dream of killing Bastion,” I said. “Hell, Bastion was his friend _and_ the goose that laid golden eggs. Remember what the hotel and bar were like before syndicate money rolled in?”

“Hey, I thought it was a cozy little dive,” Lena said, fighting a yawn.

“Looks like you’ve got some work cut out for you,” Mom said.

“I sure do,” I sighed. “Thanks Lena. If I have any more questions, I’ll find you.”

“It’s what I’m here for,” she sighed, trying to put on a smile.

“Oxton, you’re dead on your feet,” Mom said. “Go home, get some rest. We can’t have you making simple mistakes.”

“Thanks ma’am,” she smiled.

“We’ll work out a day to make up your missing hours later.”

Lena’s shoulders slumped. Of course my mom would make her work her total hours.

“If I need anything else,” I laughed, “I’ll ask for you.”

“Yeah, sure,” Lena mumbled, rubbing her eyes. “Something tells me I’ll be here a lot.”

Grinning, I walked away with mom, flipping through the manila folder.

“Was that enough info?” Mom asked.

“It should help,” I said, skimming the report.

I was really hoping to get some kind of identifiable calling card, something like a missing organ, anything that could help differentiate one killer for another. Bastion died at the hands of someone who knew what they were doing, and I needed something to lock onto. As it stood, I had nothing about the killer. Still, any info is good info.

“Your license plate should be done,” Mom said. “Get them, then get out.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I sighed. “Glad I can count on you.”

I didn’t have a lot to go off of. I needed a clue, and as informative as it was to get the case file and license plate, I needed a little mood pick-me-up for dealing with dear ol’ Mom.

Fortunately, I knew of a certain blonde who could lift my spirits, and maybe get a few more details out of.

* * *

I pulled up to Orisa’s diner just as the noon rush was winding down. I parked my lovely new Raptora, now street legal with license plates, and walked inside. Fortunately, Angela was still there.

“Hey Angela,” I smiled, walking in with that manila envelope under my arm.

“Oh! You’re back,” she beamed, re-tying the bandana over her hair. “I thought you would be gone for longer.”

“And I thought you would have gone back home,” I said, sitting down at the bar. “Why are you still here?”

“Orisa wanted to send me home, but the early lunch rush was hitting. I got stuck here helping,” Angela said, walking to the other side of the counter. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

Angela poured me a nice cup of freshly brewed Joe.

“Have you found anything?” She asked, passing me some crème and sugar.

“Some,” I said, fixing up my coffee. “First, I’d like to know what you’re going to do after you’re done helping out Orisa. Speaking of which, she didn’t find out about my tip, has she?”

“Not yet,” Angela winked.

“Good,” I smiled, my stomach doing flips from that wink. “Now, where are you going to go after this?”

“Back home to the hotel.. I’m long overdue for a good bath.”

“That does sound good. But I’d like it if you stayed in the public eye for a while.”

“What do you mean, in the public eye?”

“I got the police’s file on their initial investigation,” I said, holding up the manila folder. “I’m still working on a theory, but one thing’s really damn clear: whoever killed Bastion did their goddamn homework, and they’re an absolute perfectionistic.”

“Makes you sad they chose a life of crime.”

“’Sad,’” I snorted. “I just feel unlucky they chose to make our lives worse. Anyways, I was thinking on the drive over here; you may not have been the target of a killing, but if you interrupted them, or even made yourself known, they might have you in their sights.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean they might still come after you.”

“B-but you said no one wanted to kill me,” she said, blanching. Fucking hell, was it possible for her to look bad?

“I don’t think they are,” I said, “but they planned Bastion’s hit out to a ‘T.’ Sometimes people who plan things so anal retentively get really mad and upset when it doesn’t go according said plan. I’m starting to worry that I might’ve told you the wrong thing, that I might get you to relax when some assholes are out hunting you.”

Angela’s face fell. I gently took her hand.

“Bastion didn’t die well. I couldn’t live with myself if anything remotely similar happened to you,” I said. “I just want to look after you.”

“T-thank you,” Angela said, a smile creeping into the corner of her lips. “I feel better knowing you’re looking after me.”

That made my heart soar. Jesus Christ, I was head over heels with this broad.

“Good,” I was able to stammer out. “Just stay around people you know, or hang around the hotel. Zarya runs a goddamn tight ship; she’s probably upping the security around the place as we speak. She’ll make sure nothing happens to the hotel anymore.”

“If there’s one thing I learned from my short time working for Bastion, it’s that Zarya can be scary intense!” Angela laughed.

“She doesn’t do anything by halves, that’s for sure,” I chuckled, taking a sip of my coffee. I was expecting a simple, dark, bitter flavor with a heavy kick of caffeine, but this coffee was actually amazing. It was dark, yes, but it had a nutty, savory taste to it. It tasted like top-shelf shit, the kind that you’d buy the beans for and ground by hand.

“Is the coffee good?” Angela asked.

“Fucking hell, this is great! Did Orisa get a new blend of beans when I wasn’t looking?”

“No, I added a few things to it.”

“So now you’re a coffee angel as well?”

“I told you, I bussed tables all through college,” Angela laughed. “I know how to make good coffee, and you can bet I know how to punch up some bad coffee.”

“Now I’m curious; how did you punch up this coffee?”

“That’s a secret I won’t part with,” she winked.

“Come on, can’t you tell me?”

“You’re the private eye, I think you should figure it out,” she said in a sing-song voice.

“Now that’s just cruel,” I pouted.

“I think it’s plenty fair.”

“Angela, come on, I’ve already got a huge case in front of me.”

The blonde angel made a show of thinking. She put her finger to her chin, and tilted her head to the side. I swear, she must’ve practiced that pose a dozen times or something, it was just that graceful.

“Okay, I’ll give you a hint,” she smiled. “It involves salt.”

“Salt? To the coffee? The grounds? You can’t be serious.”

“There’s your starting point, Ms. Private Eye,” she beamed. “Figure it out.”

“You’re a cruel angel,” I laughed.

Orisa walked out from the kitchen, passing me a plate of food. A sirloin burger with sweet potato fries stared back at me, piping hot from the grill.

“Thanks Orisa,” I smiled.

“Not at all, Fareeha,” she said, waving as she walked back.

“Before you go,” I said to Angela, “I got a question for you.”

“Anything for you,” she beamed.

Oh God, my heart nearly gave out at that. I needed her something bad. Come on, get that lesbian brain of yours into gear!

“T-the night before the murder,” I stammered, trying to remember how to eat. “Was there anything different with Bastion?”

“I don’t think so,” Angela thought. “He was just worn out from this city. He had a few negotiations coming up, and he wanted to do his best for it. I had to help him relax, I had to get him to stop putting so much gorram pressure on himself.”

“He was good at that,” I nodded. “So he didn’t feel threatened?”

“No, he was perfectly normal.”

“Do you know if he was arguing with anyone?”

“No, Bastion never even raised his voice.”

Damn, that ruled out Bastion knowing the person who killed him. Yet somehow the killer knew Bastion. That meant he had to know Bastion for some time. No, I was making assumptions, leaps in logic. Just because Bastion didn’t think anyone was coming for him didn’t mean that someone knew him. The real bitch was knowing that Bastion had a good measure of fame.

He was the only person fighting for true peace in this city. Everyone knew of him and his exploits, his desire and hard work for a lasting peace between the syndicates. The killer could have kept Bastion under surveillance for a good long while before making their move. That meant I had a short time to play catch up to all their prep work.

“And where were you the night before last?”

“I was at the docks,” Angela said. “The southern docks, one of the ones run by Deadlock. I was delivering some medicine to Baptiste, he has a bad flu but didn’t want to take time off. I heard gunshots, so I went over to help.”

“Was it a small gunfight?”

“Y-yes, only four or five men from what I heard,” she stammered. “I’m sorry, but thinking about the gunfight…it was terrible, even if it was small.”

Then the men in that gunfight didn’t make it out alive.

“Sounds like you’ve never been near a gunfight before,” I laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

“I haven’t,” Angela weakly smiled.

“Well, damn near everyone in this fucking city has at least one gun shot at them sooner or later. Better get used to it.”

“I wish I wouldn’t!”

“I’m with you on that. Who was in the gunfight?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I think the term people in this city would use would be ‘nobodies.’”

“And who got away?”

“Fareeha, I don’t know,” she sighed. “There was a shipping boat that was getting ready to leave, and some men were on that boat. At least, that’s what that bastard said before he ran away.”

“What bastard?”

“Jesse fucking McCree,” she groaned.

“Hold on, fucking Jesse was there?” I demanded.

“I don’t know if he was part of the gunfight, but he was leaving the area when I got there,” she said. “I got lost, and he gave me directions.”

Jesse fuckin’ McCree, at a small-time shootout? That wasn’t his fucking style, he was all about showing off, going for big shit, not a little gunfight at some rinky-dink docks. Still, it was a start.

“Thanks,” I said, taking a bite of my burger. Crisp lettuce and tomatoes blended with caramelized onions. The ground sirloin had bits of bacon in it, too. Goddamn, did Orisa know how to cook. She was much better in the kitchen as she was breaking legs. “You just gave me my first lead.”

“Oh! I’m so glad!” She beamed.

I’d have to come back to Angela to see her smile again. But until then, I had to pay a visit to Calamity Ashe and her Deadlock Rebels.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going off a tip Angela gave her, Fareeha goes to talk with Calamity Ashe. She was expecting to get a drink, but gets a bit more than what she bargained for, along with another lead to how the killers might've gotten into the city.

Elizabeth ‘Calamity’ Ashe was a really, really big oddity. When she blew into town and set up shop, everyone thought she’d just be small fish, a flash in the pan, something to burn bright and quick. And for a time, she and her Deadlock Rebels were just that, small time. But everyone underestimated her, and they paid the price for it. Then again, it was easy to misjudge Ashe.

See, Ashe came from money; Old Money at that. Her family was one of the first to settle the state of California, one of the first to stake a claim to the soon-to-be-state, and they made their fortune in gold, water, and land. Her family made things the way they were up to this very day. The only problem is that Ashe didn’t want any of that Old Money, or to adhere to those Old Ways.

She saw what was given to her, and she was one of those strange people who spat at that. Ashe didn’t want inherited money, or to be a ‘fine woman of upstanding breeding’ to be married off to another name that came from Old Money so they could have some spoiled kids to pass off their Old Name and said Old Money to.

No, Ashe wasn’t having any of that. She didn’t want anything given to her, or to have her life planned out for her. She wanted her own life, lived her own way, made by her own hand. Such a person was rare in this country, and even rarer in this city.

She built her Deadlock rebels from the ground up. They started with smuggling, at first taking a dingy to traffick in some guns, hot cars and bikes, low level shit like that. She would’ve remained small-time if only the Shimadas didn’t mess with her.

See, the Shimadas had a near total stranglehold on smuggling in this city, especially when it came to drugs. They owned damn near all the docks; at least, all the ones that mattered. Ashe and her Deadlock Rebels grabbed a few piers in the south that were too small for the Shimadas to bother with; those docks just couldn’t turn enough of a profit for the Shimadas to bother with.

So Ashe made some small dollars running them, bringing in mostly guns but also a few other illicit things. Not drugs, that was strictly the Shimada’s turf, but things like hot cars, bikes, and small-time fenced goods.

Hanzo Shimada saw their small-time operation, and decided it just wasn’t worth his time to crush them. He showed up with a white flag, had a nice talk with Ashe about staying her lane, and that would’ve been the end of it if it wasn’t for that goddamn fuck up Genji.

Genji wasn’t like his brother at all; Genji wanted everything. In this case, he wanted _all _of the smuggling operations, no matter how small. So he got a gang of guys together, and he leaned on Ashe.

Ashe always had Bob. He was a big fucker, but was actually smart; he earned his keep as her right-hand man. It was Bob who helped train Ashe’s best lieutenants. So when Genji came down on her, he and his men held her down, gathered up some of her lieutenants, and popped their brains out right in front of her. Then he forced Bob to his knees, and cut his tongue out, and gave Ashe his ultimatum: give the Shimadas the lion’s share of her profits, or go to war.

Calamity Ashe chose war.

To be fair, she didn’t have to choose anything. As far as she was concerned, war was declared when Genji killed her lieutenants and took Bob’s tongue. She gathered up the men who stayed with her and hit the Shimada’s bars and opium dens, executing their leaders herself. At the bloodiest, she hit three dens in one night. No small feat, considering the protection that the Shimadas put on their dens.

The Shimadas hit back of course, but Calamity Ashe was ready. Her little port and hideouts were ready, and their gunfights lasted long enough for the police to get involved. It ended with the two gangs running from the police, while shooting at each other all the while, a regular goddamn comedy of errors.

Ashe proved to be pretty damn good at hit and run tactics. Mostly everyone in this city contributed it to her love of motorcycles. That was a big part of it, but I knew it the secret sauce of her victory: Ashe didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘quit.’

That’s neither hyperbole nor an exaggeration. Back when I was a beat cop, I was being shown around by Jack, and he dropped in on Ashe when she was playing poker with her boys. It wasn’t anything big, just a friendly talk about selling her ‘tickets to the policeman’s ball’ before I knew what that really meant.

I ended up playing a few hands with her, and she played every single hand dealt to her, even the crap ones. I asked Ashe if she wanted to fold when she had a bad hand, wait until she had something she could play with, and Ashe just gave me a look like I suddenly started speaking Swahili.

The Shimada Clan was a huge name. Everyone knew it was suicide to go up against them. Thing is, no one told that to Ashe. And wouldn’t you know it, that made all the difference.

The Shimadas had dozens of dens, places they thought were safe because they put their names on it. They knew that no one was crazy enough to hit them, but nobody did crazy better than Ashe. She hit any place that gave the Shimadas money. She went after anyone who spoke for them. She killed anyone who had a good opinion of them. To add insult to injury, she even hit some of their places up in Little Asia, Shimada stomping ground through and through.

And holy hell, wouldn’t you know it, but she did good for herself. Suddenly the Shimadas couldn’t protect every single place they ran, and that’s a dark mark for anyone. Since they couldn’t protect every single place, they saw their name dragged through the mud; they couldn’t keep their word, or their offers of protection. Suddenly, people were scared to say they liked the Shimadas. Suddenly, the Shimadas were on their back foot from a tiny little scrapper who just literally did not know when to fucking quit.

Finally, Hanzo took responsibility for his younger brother’s actions (what else is new?) and went for peace. Now Hanzo knew that he was giving Calamity Ashe an inch, and that he could expect her to take a foot. She ended up taking ten whole fucking yards.

Many people say Ashe got too greedy, while others say she didn’t get greedy enough. In return for peace, the Shimadas were to give her their southern ports and free reign to do what she wanted with it. Ashe immediately consolidated her winnings, branching out into other activities that the Shimadas previously had like drug smuggling, which only raked in more cash. Suddenly, there were Deadlock opium dens and protection rackets, not just the Shimada brand name.

Sure Ashe’s dens weren’t as big as the Shimadas, her drugs as varied, or as high quality as their dope, but they served a niche of people looking for a fix on the cheap. Ashe wasn’t pulling in any real dough from that, but it was her first step of stepping on the Shimadas’ toes as much and as often as she could.

There were a few gunfights, and plenty of negotiations that Bastion was barely able to hammer out. Ashe had gotten a taste of Shimada blood, and she liked it. Ashe and Bob poked the bear that was the Shimada clan, and they got away with it because of how good they gave when they were at war. Sure, there was some push back, but nothing that Ashe didn’t thrive on. Her war with the Shimadas got people to sign up with Deadlock in droves. They saw how hungry Ashe was, they saw how much money she was making, and they wanted in. If that was that, maybe she would be just be an off-brand smuggler instead of a power player in this city.

But her crowning achievement in making Deadlock a big name was when she poached Jesse fuckin’ McCree.

See, when you pick a side in this city, you stick to that side. If you’re a cop, you’re a cop until you die. If you join up with the Shimadas, you can bet no one else would see you as anything else. Same goes for Talon, and eventually Deadlock. People who jump ship tend to run out of town with whatever they’re wearing and not much else, and that’s if they’re gorram lucky to make it out of town while still sucking air.

Loyalty is a big deal here, and changing teams typically means you don’t have any loyalty. The only reason I got away from the whole ‘cop’ brand was because I didn’t join anyone else, and even then I barely got away with it.

But not Jesse fuckin’ McCree.

Talon had an iron grip on the south-east part of the city, and were inching their way back into the central downtown area, to retake it from the cops. Meanwhile, Calamity Ashe wanted to diversify, to push her way out from the south-west docks, into Talon territory.

Reyes the Reaper was obviously not having it. He pushed Ashe back at every turn. No violence was needed; her gambling dens were squeezed, her gun running was undercut, her smuggling was hamstrung, all by word of mouth. All to prevent another war with the Calamity.

This, of course, pissed Ashe off something terrible. She wanted more; she wanted it all, and she wasn’t going to wait for it to fall into her lap. One night, she was dropping by one of her bars, and saw Jesse McCree drinking at her bar, before it became an unwritten rule to never drink in another syndicate’s watering hole.

Seeing a potential something-something, Ashe covered Jesse’s drinks and got to talking with him, whispering sweet nothing into his ear. Soon, he was visiting more and more Deadlock bars; at the time, this didn’t mean anything, it was just Jesse getting a drink, maybe a fight, and sometimes a screw with Ashe herself. But when the time came, Ashe gave him an offer.

Of course, damn near everyone says that the real reason Jesse jumped ship was because Ashe was just as crazy in bed as she was out of it; that and the money was a plus. Knowing Jesse, it was probably a mix of bedroom craziness, money, and the thrill of doing it.

On the night that Jesse jumped from Talon to Deadlock, he took Ashe and her Rebels to some of Talon’s bookies. They either beat them up or killed them, and took their books that held the names of the people who owed what to Talon.

Ashe dropped in on the most degenerate gamblers, and gave them a simple chat, a deal far too good to pass up; their debt to Talon would be forgiven, if only they went through Deadlock instead.

With the books that held their debts stolen, Talon didn’t know how much they were supposed to be paid and from whom. That meant they lost a huge chunk of their gambling dens all in one night. And since Ashe was giving some of the most loathsome gamblers in the city a clean checkbook, they spent their money and credit on her gambling pits instead of Talon’s. Suddenly, Ashe was fucking flush in cash, and Talon was left high and dry.

Reyes, of course, was goddamn livid. He let the Widow loose, telling her to bring Jesse in, dead or alive. And for nearly a month, Jesse fuckin’ McCree became the only man to give the Widow the slip.

Not that the Widow made it easy; she tried to run him to the ground. Gunfights broke out at odd hours, cars were stolen and chased throughout town, a few dozen people were lost in the crossfire, but Jesse somehow stayed one step ahead of the Widow.

Eventually Jack and the police stepped in. Some back and forth attacks were expected, especially if said parties paid the cops to stay off their case, which both Ashe and Reyes did. But no one could having gunfights in the open streets, so Jack and the cops made a move on Deadlock and Talon.

That was the last time the city nearly got blown up. Bastion was barely able to hammer out a deal from that one, but he was able to save it in the nick of time.

Bastion’s deal was simple. The Widow would leave Jesse alone, and no one got dragged in by the cops on trumped-up causes and shipped up the river. Hanzo, seeing a chance to stick his thumb in Talon’s eye, threw his weight behind the deal as well; he’d make witnesses appear for the cops to question, and in return, he’d get to see Talon busted, and he’d pick up some of their territory.

Reyes damn near blew every gasket he had. But he couldn’t say no, not when Bastion made the deal, and certainly not when the two of the biggest names in the city were backing it up.

While Reyes was livid, Ashe was ecstatic. She grabbed the best trigger man in the city, not to mention a big chunk of Talon’s gambling rings, and she’d gotten away with it. If there was any doubt that the Deadlock Rebels wasn’t here to stay, it was gone with that. Rumor has it when they got their peace, Ashe took Jesse to bed and they broke that damn thing underneath them.

A busted bed wasn’t the only thing smashed. Ashe broke damn near every norm in this city, and only got richer for it. Honestly, I kind of admire her for that. But it still made her a criminal. Now I had to see if said criminal ambition led to a disturbance the day before Bastion’s death, or even had a hand in the murder itself.

* * *

My Raptora growled as I threw her around another corner. Fucking hell, I was gonna have some bald tires not before long, but I couldn’t help myself. My face was threatening to cramp from the perpetual grin I got whenever I’d crank the engine. I was coming up on the southern docks, strictly Deadlock territory.

I heel-toed shifted again, taking the last corner before I found myself at Ashe’s main bar, Route 66. My Raptora slid into an empty parking spot, right ahead of a group of bikes. Knowing Ashe, they were all probably Harley-Davidsons.

I killed the engine, climbed out, and checked my haphazard parking. I had thrown my precious Raptora into a spin, but was able to land a few inches from the curb, and maybe half a foot from the bikes.

My grin grew as I surveyed my parking job. Crap like that only worked out in the movies. I could feel a strut enter my step as I made my way to the bar. I made sure my trench coat was undone so it caught the wind. I was a giant cliché, but I couldn’t give a fuck. I felt like hot shit.

The Route 66 bar only served bikers, and since Calamity Ashe loved motorcycles, that made her Deadlock Rebels nearly all bikers. I pushed the door open, and gazed out on a wretched hive of scum and villainy.

The place was big, easily as big as Bastion’s bar in the hotel. The actual bar itself ran along two walls like an ‘L,’ ending at a rickety set of stairs that led to an upper level where Ashe did her dealings. There were over a dozen full tables, and more than a dozen people sitting at the long, L-shaped bar. Many looked up at me as I opened the door, giving me the stink eye, letting me know I wasn’t wanted.

I ignored them all, and sauntered over to the bar. As much as I wanted to order something really goddamn strong, I was on the job. I had to keep myself somewhat high and dry; Bastion’s killer was out there, and I had to catch them.

“What can I get you?” The bartender said as I slid up. He wasn’t paying any attention to me. Seemed like he was writing something down in a little book. Could be orders, could be his fucking memoir, it didn’t matter.

“What’s the fruitiest beer you got?”

“You growing a vagina?”

“Hell, getting a pair of those sounds good,” I laughed. “Would get pretty messy every month, though.”

The mouthy bartender finally looked up and saw me.

“Alright, I’m more used to dealing with bikers. I made a bad call,” he sighed. “We got some elderberry mead. That good for you?”

“Sounds good enough for this early.”

“It’s past noon.”

“Only socialites and degenerates drink before five.”

“Ain’t no one here who’s a socialite,” he laughed.

“Shit, my mom would be so pissed to see me right now!”

“Here, here.”

He slid me the mead, and I gave him a good tip. He was a pretty good sport about it, he earned it.

“You know, I was expecting a shit brew, but this is pretty good,” I said.

“I’ll pass it along,” my bartender said. “You expecting company here?”

“Why? Are there a bunch of rough assholes behind me?”

“It’s almost like you’re psychic.”

Groaning, I turned around. Sure enough, there were two big guys who were behind me.

“Gentlemen,” I said. “Can I help you with anything?”

“This bar is for Ashe’s Rebels only,” one said. “You ain’t welcome here.”

“Look, I’m just looking for a nice, easy talk with the Calamity,” I said. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“You come in here, you’re looking for trouble.”

“Holy hell, did you practice that line in a mirror?” I sighed. The bartender snorted at that. Knew I liked him for a reason.

“Get out,” one of the big men said.

“Look, Ashe hired me. I don’t want any trouble.”

“Too bad. You found it.”

I didn’t wait for him to raise his fist; the guy was big, and if I let him get a shot in, I’d be flat on my ass or knocked out cold.

I kneed his balls, just as he was winding up; he fell with a rough ‘oof,’ which left me with a big, pissed off second man. I brought my arm up, partially catching his fist. It was the size of a fucking ham hock, I swear. The world exploded in light as his punch grazed me, sending me staggering. Well, now it was a party.

He threw another big punch, which left him open. I ducked it and swung back, landing a nice cross on his nose. Blood burst from it as my punch broke his nose. My breath left me as his friend landed a heavy punch in my gut; he recovered from that ball kick faster than I thought. Good thing I didn’t have a chance to really drink.

Gagging, I threw a quick punch at the guy who got me in the gut. I opened a cut on his eye, but didn’t stop there. If he could shrug off a ball kick really quick, maybe I just needed to kick him in the balls a few more times. I felt his testicles against my shin as I kicked him again, then again, and again for a third time. Maybe I was more pissed about the gut shot than I thought. Finally, he went down.

The ground came up on me as the second guy laid me out. I caught myself before I hit the wooden floor. My world was pain, but I had enough sense to know the worst of it wouldn’t hit me for a few seconds. I pushed off the ground, launching myself at the big asshole, fist swinging.

A big hand wrapped itself around my wrist. A second big hand threw the second asshole away. Blinking through tears of pain, I saw Bob standing over me, not at all happy. He was the one who grabbed me.

“Bob,” the second guy gasped. “I-I didn’t…”

Bob shot the guy a glare. He was bigger than the asshole who punched me, with heavy chops and his signature bowler hat. I took all that in just before the pain bloomed, really making itself known to me. The fucker broke my nose.

I cradled my head, feeling out the damage with my hands. Holy hell, did it hurt!

Bob set a hand on my shoulder, far gentler than what I would have expected. He looked at me, giving me an ‘okay’ hand sign.

“No, I’m not okay,” I groaned. “Asshole broke my nose.”

Bob glared at the man in question. Said man tried to scramble away into the safety of the crowd. But if Bob was out for blood, that could only mean that Calamity Ashe herself put the word out. Everyone turned him away, lest they end up on her bad side as well.

“Fareeha Amari,” a voice called. I looked up, and on the second floor of the bar, leaning against the railing was Calamity Ashe herself, with her fuck toy Jesse fuckin’ McCree next to her. She wore her usual trousers and vest. If I was in any mood to ogle her, I would. But I wasn’t, thanks to my nose.

Jesse looked as he always did; with a nice and fancy long coat, a good vest and woolen pants, not to mention his BAMF belt buckle. He was getting used to being Ashe’s fuck toy. At least it kept him flush. Honestly, I couldn’t blame him for the perks. I wouldn’t mind being Ashe’s fuck toy.

“You said you were looking for me?” She said.

“J-just got a few questions,” I mumbled, clutching my nose.

“Sorry for the rude motherfuckers,” Ashe said, walking down to the first floor. The guy who’s balls I went to town on rolled on the ground, covered in his own vomit; somewhere between the second and third ball-kick, he puked. Ashe ignored him, walked by the guy who broke my nose, and glared at him. “Did I say I wanted her roughed up?”

“B-but Ashe, you said you didn’t want to be bothered,” he pleaded.

“You know who she is?”

“Some fucking nobody who can’t pick a side.”

“That ‘fucking nobody’ is looking for Bastion’s killer,” she snapped. “I hired her.”

“Aw fuck, I’m sorry Ashe, I really didn’t think—“

“No shit you didn’t,” Ashe growled.

Ashe didn’t take kindly to people who made her look bad. She was probably thinking of how to get rid of him.

“Don’t kill him,” I said.

That got Ashe to look at me.

“He fucked you up, made me look bad,” she said. “Why _shouldn’t _I kill him?”

Part of me wanted to kill the asshole, but a bigger part of me didn’t want to have my hands dirty, even if it was tangentially related. Of course, I had to pretty it up to look tough in front of the Deadlock Rebels.

“Don’t kill; maim,” I said. “Maiming sends a stronger message.”

Ashe looked at me with her bleached blonde hair and red lipstick. Then she smiled. That smile made my blood run cold.

“I think you’ve learned your lesson,” she grinned at the guy who’s balls I trashed. Then she turned to the fucker who broke my nose. “Which hand do you write with?”

“Ashe, come on, please…”

“Which hand?” She demanded.

“…my right hand.”

“Bob.”

Bob walked over, grabbing the asshole’s right hand.

“Bob, come on, please man, I’ll do better…”

Thanks to Genji, Bob was mute. But he might as well have been deaf.

Bob grabbed a finger, and turned it sideways. Bones cracked, and the guy screamed. Bob moved to the next finger, then the next one, then the next…

Maybe I was too rough on the guy with the whole ‘maiming’ thing. My stomach curdled as I heard each finger snap. By the time Bob was done, the asshole was weeping like a baby. His hand was misshapen, but at least he still had it.

“Get him to a doctor,” Ashe said. She watched the entire thing without flinching. Holy hell, it was scary to see her do all that without blinking. “Amari, my office.”

I wanted nothing more than to sit down and wallow in some booze to chase this fucking fight off, but work called. I staggered up, and saw the bartender passing me a big glass of water.

“Thanks,” I smiled.

“Least I could do,” he replied.

I downed half of the glass before I got to the stairs, and left him another tip; that guy deserved it and more. Ashe led me to her office, Bob and McCree in tow. Her office had a big desk and an even bigger chair behind it. Unlike the bar, which seemed rough and run down, her office was well furnished. It also had some guns lying on a few small tables. I saw her coach gun and her infamous rifle right next to her desk.

“So,” Ashe said, sitting down, “how’s the investigation?”

“It’s got a strong start,” I groaned. “So strong it fucked up my nose.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Ashe said. She reached over for a tumbler of whiskey. She filled a glass, passed it off to me, and I took a big swig. “My guys are lean and mean, but some of ‘em don’t think.”

“They’ll learn real quick after that,” McCree laughed. He moved in, sitting on the edge of Ashe’s desk, next to her.

“Sure hope so,” I said. “Got a mirror?”

Ashe reached into her desk, and pulled one out. She held it up while I looked at my nose; it wasn’t set right. I only paused for a second.

“Fuck.”

Before I could talk myself out of it, I brought my hands up and twisted my nose back into place. Pain blared, nearly making me scream.

“Think I’ll take some more whiskey,” I croaked, wiping tears from my eyes. Ashe refilled me, and passed me some tissues. I grabbed a few and quickly stopped up my nose.

“Now,” she said, leaning back in her chair, “what’ve you found so far?”

“Whoever wacked Bastion knew him real well,” I said, taking a pull of whiskey. I didn’t like it neat, but I needed something to take the edge off my nose.

“I’d think that whoever killed him knew Zarya better,” Jesse said. “You can’t sneak a gun into the hotel without tipping her off. I swear, it’s like she’s psychic.”

“That’s ‘cus they didn’t smuggle a gun in,” I said. “Bastion got rained on with his own thirty-eight.”

“Wait, Bastion had a gun?” Ashe demanded. “When the fuck did that happen?”

“Back in the War, before he became the city’s negotiator,” I said. “He had an old British service piece in his desk. Got it when he saved a friend’s life.”

“Bullshit.”

“Lena called back home, got the story from the British military. Bastion saved a whole squad of Limey soldiers by putting out some firebomb while the Krauts took potshots at him.”

“Well I’ll be a three-peckered barn owl,” Jesse whistled.

“The British sergeant gave Bastion his revolver as a way of saying ‘thank you.’ Bastion kept it in his desk drawer. Since fucking no one knew about the revolver, that means the killer knew Bastion.”

“Fuck,” Ashe spat. “So the people that knew Bastion, knew he had that gun; does it sound like Hanzo, Jack, or Reyes?”

“I’m not sorry to disappoint you, but it sure as hell wasn’t any of them,” I said. I thought I felt blood seeping through the tissues, so I tapped at it. Fortunately, nothing stuck to my fingers, nothing leaked out. “Still working on confirming their alibis, but I got a real good feeling that they’re accounted for when his murder time rolled around.”

“Then you found nothing.”

“Hey, I can tell everyone that you sure as hell didn’t wack Bastion.”

“Yeah, that counts for something,” Ashe said, rolling her eyes. “What else do you know?”

“Come on, Ashe, it’s day one of an investigation. I think I’m pretty damn good, but I’m not magic.”

Ashe hissed, grinding her teeth. But she knew I was right. If she didn’t want to admit it to save face, I could accept that.

“I did some homework, and I think something happened down at the docks,” I continued. “Your docks.”

“Nothing happened at my docks,” Ashe snorted. “I hear everything that happens down there.”

“Then what _have _you heard?” I asked, reaching into my jacket pocket to pull out a notepad.

“Sweet fuck all, that’s for damn sure,” Ashe said, leaning back. “Had a few shipments come in, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

I jotted down notes, but kept an eye on Bob and Jesse. Bob was stoic as fucking always; stoic and naturally intimidating. Jesse, on the other hand, was uncharacteristically quiet and reserved. He wasn’t even looking at me, even though I knew he would check out my tits.

Then again, Jesse fuckin’ McCree would check out _any _pair of tits.

“What was on the boat?”

“None of your damn business,” Ashe smiled.

“Had to keep you on your feet,” I laughed. “But seriously, it wasn’t anything big? Nothing like a shipment of opium or crap like that?”

“As much as I wish I could fuck the Shimadas over even more,” Ashe growled, “it was nothing like that. Small time stuff, but on a big scale.”

“I really shouldn’t press, but was it like cars and guns?”

“You really shouldn’t,” Ashe grinned, leaning on her desk. “But it was small stuff like that.”

“Come on, Ashe, someone wacked Bastion. With all the heat coming down on this, they’d want to get out of town as fast as possible. I want to find a way for them to get out.”

“You mean in, so they can wack Bastion.”

“It can be both,” I said. “Whoever did this planned this to the fucking ‘T.’ I need to see if I can poke a hole in any getaway plan.”

“Why not start with the Shimadas? They’re probably turning all kinds of blind eyes to coming and goings.”

“That’s because the Shimadas didn’t have a gunfight on their turf.”

“There wasn’t a gunfight on my turf.”

“I heard there was.”

Ashe’s eyes narrowed at that. She turned to Bob. Bob shrugged.

“Find out,” she snapped.

Bob nodded, and walked out of the room, no doubt to get some idea of what was going on.

“If there was a gunfight,” Ashe said, her voice all smooth and gentle, “it must’ve been a few nobodies who took some potshots at my guys.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” I said, jotting down notes, “I’m not saying you don’t know what’s going down on your turf, I just need to follow up on some points.”

“You sure?” Ashe pressed. “’Cus it sounds to me like you want to pick out some flaws in my operations.”

“If there’s any flaw in your operation, Ashe, it’s that you can’t be everywhere at once,” I said. “You know, basic laws of physics and all that bullshit.”

Ashe glared at me, trying to figure me out.

“Hey, you paid me,” I said. “Same as everyone else. I’m not trying to make you look bad.”

“You’re not looking at another pay check, are you?” She asked. “Not looking for a donation to do your job the right way?”

“I’m doing my job the right way, without stepping on anyone’s toes _too_ much,” I sighed. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“And you’re so good at your job,” Ashe sneered.

“That’s what you paid me for.”

“And no one paid you better?”

“Haven’t taken a penny off anyone else,” I said. “This might be a job, but I also want to nail the bastard who did this to the wall.”

“Fair enough,” she nodded.

“Look, I heard a rumor, and I want to follow up on it,” I said. “Doesn’t mean it happened, I just have to cover all my bases.”

“That’s all you needed?” Ashe asked.

“For now. Still gotta do the whole detective work thing.” I stood up. “Thanks for the drinks. Oh, and that smartass bartender down there? He’s pretty good. He deserves a raise.”

“Yeah, he’s a steal ain’t he?” She laughed. “Sorry ‘bout the nose.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled, running my hand along my busted nose. “Guess I better get to pounding the pavement.”

I got up to walk out, Ashe and McCree following. Peering downstairs, I saw Bob with a few of Ashe’s men. He had a notepad in his hand, making up for his lost tongue. Bob looked up at Ashe, and shook his head ‘no.’

“Think you better get some better rumors, Amari,” Ashe chuckled. “No gunfight happened on my turf.”

“Just dotting the I’s and crossing the T’s,” I said. “Thanks again.”

I just hope I didn’t get Ashe started on some kind of purge of her lower ranks; no one needed to die because I needed to smoke out some info.

Ashe led me to the stairs, but Jesse spoke up.

“I’ll make sure she makes it out without anyone busting her nose again,” he said.

Ashe gave him a cross look, but let him out of her sight, going back to her office.

“She must really like you to give you so much leash,” I laughed.

“Knock that shit off,” Jesse hissed.

That made me pause. Jesse was always in the giving-shit-taking-shit kind of mood. Hell, his whole calling card was the ‘devil may care’ attitude. This? This was just strange.

Jesse looked at me. His eyes darted to the door, then back to mine. Picking up on the hint, I nodded, and walked down the stairs, Jesse in tow. We made it outside, and he grabbed my arm, dragging me around the corner. I let him.

Making sure that we were alone, and no one could see us, he turned to me.

“How did you know there was a gunfight at the docks?” He asked.

“I have my sources.”

Jesse glared at me. I’ve never seen him so serious before.

“I’m a private eye,” I gasped. “Let me have my mysterious sources.”

“Fine,” he grumbled. “There _was_ a gunfight, and I was in it.”

“And you’re not bragging?”

“It was a…a strange gunfight,” he said, breaking eye contact. For a man who puffed his chest out whenever death came around, this was certainly strange behavior.

“’Strange’ how so?”

“Strange as in they seemed shocked I was the one they jumped.”

“Alright, hold on now, you’re saying you got jumped? At your own docks?”

Jesse’s face burned with embarrassment. But he looked at his wristwatch; he knew Ashe would be counting the seconds he was away from her. Maybe she didn’t trust him around another woman no matter how plainly I said I don’t like dick, or because he might flip on her like he flipped on Reyes.

“Yeah, it was at our docks,” he said. “Four or five guys jumped me. I was just making some rounds, basic shit like that, making sure everything was good and that the shipping manifest was all squared away, crap like that. I was walking away from the ship when some fucker took a shot at me. Don’t know how he missed, but he fucking missed. That made him a dead man to me.”

Jesse was a braggart, but he was telling the truth there. If someone got the drop of Jesse fuckin’ McCree and missed? Yeah, their ass was grass. I tried to look relaxed so I could keep Jesse talking. I needed him nice and loose, not any more scared than he was.

“How dead did you make him?” I grinned.

That finally got Jesse to smile.

“Deader than a side of bacon,” he grinned. “Fucker thought he was a big, big man. Well, he missed, I threw myself to the ground, and I heard bullets popping off above me. Rolled to cover, drew my piece, and I think you can figure out the rest.”

If these assholes couldn’t put Jesse fuckin’ McCree down with a shot to the back, they deserved whatever was coming to them.

“So what were they about?” I asked

“Crap if I know,” Jesse mumbled, losing the wind in his sails. “They just started shooting me, and I put them down. Simple as that. But when I went after them…they just, I mean, they were shocked that I was the one they tried to wack.”

“And they didn’t say anything to you?”

“I…I think I heard a few accents,” he mumbled. “But I’m shit at telling where people are from.”

“So these four or five guys had maybe accents, didn’t know they jumped you, and what, they came from a ship? Maybe protecting a ship?”

“Something like that,” he said. “One of ‘em wanted to get back to the ship, but that didn’t last.”

“Where are the bodies?”

“I had Baptiste take care of ‘em,” he said, shifting his weight.

“And the docks this took place at?”

“El Dorado South.”

“That heap?” I snorted. “Strange as fuck place to sneak into the city.”

“Kinda makes it perfect in my eyes.”

“Jesse, there’s only two ports there, and they can only fit fishing boats.”

“That’s why no one would suspect it.”

“And the reason you didn’t tell this to Ashe?”

“I…ran into Dr. Ziegler on my way out,” he mumbled. “Somehow, she heard the scuffle, and thought she might be needed there.”

Angela did say she was in the area the time of the shootings, giving some medicine to Baptiste. It looked like this might actually pan out.

“She’s new to the city,” he continued. “She wants to make a difference. I can’t have her getting mixed up in any strange faces trying to bust into the city.”

“Well, color me surprised. I never thought I’d see chivalry from you.”

“With a face like that, I couldn’t say no,” he said. Then he practically started drooling. “Or a rack like that. Good lord, those sweater puppies are a real ‘come to Jesus’ moment.”

Great, now I had Angela’s rack in my mind. And her gams. And her…

I shook my head, snapping myself out of my lesbian induced haze.

“And like that, we’re back to the same old asshole Jesse fuckin’ McCree,” I groaned.

“Am I wrong?” He grinned.

I wanted to snap at him, or tell him off, but I just couldn’t. Jesse waited, grinning like the asshole he was.

“You’re not wrong,” I finally said, “you’re just an asshole.”

“Long as I ain’t wrong, darlin,’” he laughed.

“Get back to Ashe before she thinks I caught your dick,” I groaned.

“Speaking of which, standing offer,” he said, looping his thumbs through his BAMF belt buckle, pressing his hips forward.

“Fuck off, Jesse.”

I got to admit, it was pretty interesting to meet non-asshole Jesse. But that moment was dead and gone, just like the men who jumped him. That meant I had to pay a visit to one of the most run-down docks in the city. As I walked to my Raptora, I chuckled. That dock was where Ashe got her start. It was kind of fitting that the assholes who killed Bastion might get their start there, too.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fareeha goes to one of Ashe's docks, and gets her first big break.  
Sadly, to follow up on the break, she has to turn to a paranoid shadow.

It was getting into the evening when I rolled up on the El Dorado South docks. Like Ashe, it was rough. Because mostly fishing boats docked there, the place reeked of fish. Now I like some sushi, not to mention a different kind of oyster, but this was too much.

Fortunately, thanks to the cotton stuffing up my busted nose, the worst was filtered out. Small blessings.

I pulled my Raptora up to the dock, and killed the engine. Climbing out, I took a few seconds to check my poor schnoz in the mirror. Fucker broke it good; it was leaving a nice cut. At least it was set right. All I had to do was keep it that way, and I should be good in about a month or so.

I made sure my notepad and pen were in my pocket as I made my way to the dock. There were two boats unloading as I made my way to the dock office, sniffing to test my nose. Walking up to the office, I heard a loud sneeze. I knocked just to be polite, then opened the door.

Baptiste looked up from his desk. He was pretty black, maybe a shade or two blacker than me, but today he was very pale. His eyes were also bloodshot, with deep bags under them. He had a heavy blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

“Jesus, you look like shit,” he grumbled in his Haitian Creole accent, looking at me.

“That makes two of us. What’s got you down?”

“Fuckin’ flu,” he coughed. “What ‘bout chu?”

“One of Ashe’s goons broke it.”

“Looks fresh.”

“Maybe an hour,” I said, looking at my wristwatch.

“Merde, you’ve been busy, fille,” he laughed. It turned into a rough cough. “Wha’ chu here for, private eye?”

“You sure you don’t want to go home?”

“Don’t tempt me,” he mumbled, drawing the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “Ashe don’t give sick time.”

“Damn,” I whistled. “What about Reyes? He give sick time?”

Baptiste glared at me, but I couldn’t help but grin.

“I’d never join tha’ fucking butcher,” he spat.

“But you lived on their turf for the longest time. Didn’t that make things awkward?”

“All th’ time. But I’d never join him.”

“And joining Ashe is better?”

“Ashe is a butcher, oui, but she has th’ courtesy ta look th’ men she kills in th’ eyes.”

Baptiste’s beef with Talon was both well known, and anyone’s guess. He used to live on Talon turf, and was scouted by them. But he never joined them. For some reason, he spat at them, and went out of his way to avoid them. Hell, he uprooted his life from Talon’s area to move to Ashe’s turf; no one did something like that. No one knew why he didn’t join Talon, and Baptiste wasn’t telling anyone.

“I guess there’s some honor to that,” I said. “Better than sic’ing the Widow on someone.”

“Wha’chu want?” Baptiste coughed. “I got better things ta do than chat with chu.”

“Like hiding dead bodies?”

That got Baptiste to glare at me anew.

“Don’t know wha’chu talkin’ ‘bout.”

“Jesse knows what you’re talking about,” I said. “I heard there was a gunfight here last night. Bunch of nobodies rolled in, tried to gun down McCree. Since you run this dock, you gotta know something.”

“Ashe didn’t send chu, did she?”

“If Ashe knew about this gunfight, you think she’d send me?” I asked, cocking my eyebrow.

Baptiste grudgingly nodded.

“Yeah, if Ashe wanted ta hear this, she’d have me…well, she’d do nothin’ good, comprendre?”

“All too well. Ask the man who busted my nose,” I said, gesturing to my poor schnoz.

“He didn’t know Ashe hired ya? Merde,” he chuckled darkly. “Alright; wha’ Ashe do?”

“I told her not to kill the guy. Bob ended up breaking his fingers.”

“How many fingers?”

“All of ‘em.”

“Baiser un canard,” he laughed.

“You think it’s funny?” I could still hear the poor bastard’s bones breaking.

“Na, it ain’t, but ya gotta admit, Ashe don’t fuck ‘bout.”

“That wasn’t in question.”

Baptiste tried to laugh, but ended up coughing instead. He politely held up his hand, and not so politely hawked up some gunk in his throat, spitting into a nearby bucket. I raised my hands, letting him know it was all good.

“Alright,” he said, his flu making it sound like he sandpapered his voice, “wha’chu wanna know?”

“What do you remember about the gunfight?”

“Ugh, barely remember it,” he said. “Sick and all that, yea?”

“You remember enough of it, right?”

“Some, yeah,” he sniffled. “Was tryin’ ta get better, drink some tea and singer’s elixir.”

“Singer’s what now?”

“Ya don’t know?” he said. “Singer’s elixir. Hot water, honey, lemon juice, maybe some ginger, an’ rum. Perks ya up, clears ya throat.”

“I’ll have to remember that,” I said, making a note.

“Works so well, makes ya wonder why it doesn’t last forever,” he grinned. “I was prepin’ a few ships ta be sent out, makin’ th’ manifests an’ all tha,’ when I heard poppin.’ Had ta do my job, so I went out. Saw Jesse gunnin’ some fools down.”

“You know who those fools were?”

“Buncha nobodies, tha’s who,” Baptiste said. “Didn’t recognize them, an’ I got my finger on th’ pulse a th’ nobodies.”

Considering Baptiste ran Ashe’s lowest rung, he probably did know everyone of little importance.

“What did Jesse do?”

“’Side from puttin’ ‘em in th’ ground?”

“Fair point. Did Jesse look like he knew them?”

“Na, he’s more then a bit cocky. Shot his mouth off when it was all done, but wha’ else is new?”

“Bastion’s murder is new.”

“Come on now, I don’t mean it like tha,’” he protested.

“And I’m following up on any available lead,” I replied. “I gotta be thorough, Baptiste. What did you do after the gunfight?”

“Jesse told me ta take care of th’ bastards,” he said. “Had ta really fight ta get it done, wha’ with th’ flu an’ wha’not, but I got it done. Got rid of th’ bodies, like he asked. I saw him standin’ round the office when I was done, an’ I ask him wha’ he’s here for. But Jesse, he just looks at me all serious like, an’ tells me ta keep this from Ashe.”

That got me to stop. Jesse never bragged about the gunfight; this might be the chance to find out why.

“Any idea why he’d tell you to say nothing?”

“Shit if I know,” Baptiste mumbled. “Don’t get paid ‘nough ta think.”

“Can’t fault you for that,” I shrugged. “What I can fault you for is not helping me when I’m trying to find Bastion’s killer.”

“Fareeha, come on,” he begged.

“I won’t tell Ashe, you’ve got my word. I just need to get a lead on Bastion’s killer.”

Baptiste looked at me, but relented.

“Jesse really didn’t say nothin’ ta me,” he said. “Just told me ta keep my mouth shut ta Ashe, and everythin’ be alright.”

“Serious?”

“Serious.”

“Jesse fuckin’ McCree told you to keep your mouth shut.”

“Weird, eh?” Baptiste laughed before breaking into a cough.

“Then who else was here?” I gasped.

“Tha’ new doctor, Ziegler was it?” He said. “Dieu, that beauté…she somethin’ else.”

She really fucking was.

“What was Dr. Ziegler doing here?”

“I ordered some medicine from her. For this damn flu, you know?”

“And she made a house call?”

“Said her order a meds came in earlier than she expect,” Baptiste said.

“Lucky you.” I was about to walk away, but something tickled me. “Wait. When did Dr. Ziegler bring you your medicine? Was it before the gunfight when you were prepping the ships to sail?”

“Yeah, pretty sure,” Baptiste said, deep in thought. “Things got blurry, yea?”

“Think a little harder. Trying to get a timeline.”

Baptiste scrunched up his face, thinking things through.

“Ziegler came ta me first,” he said. “Sometime in th’ early evening? I was just glad she had some meds. Helped a bit as I checked th’ ships. Then th’ poppin’ happened. We both ran over, an’ found fuckin’ McCree.”

I jotted notes down.

“What else?”

“Took care of th’ bodies, like Jesse said ta,” he said, trying to remember. “Think Ziegler was gone by then. Yeah, tha’s wha’ happened.”

I looked out on the dock. If there was a place for Bastion’s killers to slip into this city, it would be here, or another small dock.

“You took care of the bodies?”

“I ain’t tellin’ ya where,” he snapped. “Trade secret.”

“I’m not asking for details,” I said. “Plausible deniability and all that.”

“Good,” he smiled.

“Here’s the big question: did a ship launch before or after the gunfight?”

“I think after,” he said.

“You mind if I take a look at the shipping manifests?”

“Why th’ fuck ya need ta look at tha,’ fille?’”

“Because I think Bastion’s killers snuck into the city at a port,” I said. “They might’ve snuck out as well, used the gunfight as a cover to get into the boat.”

Baptiste gave me a hard look. Then he slowly got to his feet, pulled out a big book, and handed it over.

“Nail tha’ bastard ta th’ wall,” he said, tightening the blanket around his shoulders.

“I plan to.”

I looked over the records, at the times in and times out. I flipped back a few pages.

“These are accurate?”

“I run a tight ship,” he said.

“And for illicit goods?” I grinned.

“Don’t know wha’chu talkin’ ‘bout.”

That got me chuckling. Of course Baptiste wouldn’t incriminate himself. Still, the times and dates had to be good; Ashe needed to know what came in and when, regardless of what was in them. Flipping through the pages, I saw the same items repeating itself over and over again. Baptiste was covering for Ashe, that much was plain, but I was hunting bigger game than simple smuggling.

I found a few ships that were listed as having empty holds, but one seemed to have too little empty space to be truly empty. On the pages I found, this ship was listed as having entered port with empty holds, but on another section, they were listed as having a few large holds.

“This ship,” I said, pointing at the manifest, “did you have everything emptied from it when it came in?”

“Yeah, all of ‘em empty,” Baptiste said. “Made sure, yea?”

“And it left empty?”

“Of course.”

“That’s good. Because these records say they left the harbor with a little extra.”

Baptiste grabbed the manifest from my hands, looking it all over. His already sickly pale face seemed to pale even more. He pointed at the entry.

“Tha’ ain’t my handwriting.”

My stomach tightened and my heart picked up. This was the first major clue.

“Who’s handwriting is it?” It was small and precise, but there wasn’t enough to guess a gender. Might be a woman’s, but my handwriting wasn’t as good as that.

“Don’t know,” Baptiste said. “But it ain’t mine.”

Shit. I might’ve found the bad guys get away spot.

“Where’s it at?”

“Left port last night.”

I jumped to my feet and was about to run outside, but I realized how much of a waste that would be. Baptiste’s office had plenty of windows, and I could see ships floating every which way. All it took was an hour or so, and you’d be long out to sea.

“Shit.”

“This big?”

“This has to be how they got out of the city,” I said.

“How’d they get in past me?”

“If they found a way out from under your nose, they could find a way in past your nose,” I replied. “No offense to you or your nose, but these fuckers are good.”

“Oui, they are,” Baptiste grumbled. “So wha’chu gonna do?”

My mind spun as I absorbed all the details. Some fuckers snuck into this city through Ashe’s docks, making a mockery of Baptiste who’s got a reputation for running a goddamn tight ship. Then once they’re in the city, they whack Bastion, making a mockery out of Zarya in the process, and sneak back out, all without raising a fuss.

They already had to have known Bastion for some time, been able to tail him, get his movements down, and find out about that revolver he kept. They knew their shit. I should’ve realized how good they were when they whacked Bastion under Zarya’s nose, but sneaking past Baptiste only made me realize how fucking good they were.

These fuckers knew how to keep a low profile. Tracking them was going to be a bitch and a half.

“If these assholes can keep quiet,” I grumbled, “I gotta go to the one chick who hears everything and suspects everything.”

“You don’t mean Sombra, do ya?”

“Yeah, sadly I do.”

“Fille, she makes paranoid conspiracy wackos look even-keeled,” Baptiste said. “I met her once; she told me th’ Russkies had ways ta read your mind through radio waves, so she lined her place in tinfoil.”

“And right now, I think I need that,” I hissed. “This is looking less like a well-planned murder and more of a damn deep conspiracy. So I gotta go to the biggest conspiracy theorist this city has to offer. I just hope I don’t catch whatever madness she has.”

* * *

Sombra. Woo boy, where does one even start with Sombra?

She’s with Talon, but I’m amazed they even gave her a job. Actually, that’s starting a bit too late, I need to start earlier.

The woman called Sombra just appeared in town one day. Which is a pretty big achievement when everyone is keeping an eye on everything to try and get an edge on the others. She blew into town just when I was starting my time as a cop. We got a call about a squatter, and I was assigned to take a look into it.

We rolled up on an old docking building in Talon’s territory. Had a few fun conversations to some of Reyes’ men as we rolled in. Reyes and Morrison were real snippy with each other those days; then again, it was just after Bastion was able to talk Reyes into a peace, so there’s that.

Anyways, we’re able to talk our way past Reyes’ men, on condition we do nothing. If there’s a squatter in the old building, then we just give them a talking to. I was gung-ho back then, I was itching for an arrest, but even I knew better than to step on toes without Jack’s blessings.

So we take a look at the building. It was an old, long brick building used for loading and unloading trucks. Everything was run down; metal was rusty, wood was rotten, bricks were faded, that sort of thing. We go in, but something rubs me the wrong way. Then it hits me; the outside doors were old and pitted, but the inside second floor doors were new, and heavily bolted.

I think I was the first one to talk to Sombra. She was on the other side of her door, and I pounded away at it, demanding to talk to her. She said she was exercising her right as a sovereign citizen to enact eminent domain, reclaiming an abandoned building. Now that took me by surprise, and we spent a few minutes sparring back and forth on the legal terms being thrown around. Eventually, we realized we wouldn’t be able to pull her out of her little den without pissing off Reyes’ men, so we cut our loses, but pledged to come back to get her.

Knowing Sombra now, she probably didn’t sleep for at two days from that threat as she weighed her options.

By the time we got our ducks in a row and were about to get her, Reyes showed up with a slick lawyer, and Sombra herself. Looking at her, she barely slept, and looked very, very, very stressed out in the open. She actually relaxed when we got into a tiny interview room, the little agoraphobe.

Threatening Sombra was the wrong move. She clammed up, and made a deal with Reyes. She’d work for him, and in return for protection, she’d feed him info whenever he needed it. For a paranoid agoraphobic recluse, somehow she knew everything that was going on in this city. Still don’t know how she pulls that shit off; guess we all have our mysteries. Plenty of people want to know how I do the private eye thing, and I leave ‘em hanging, so I can’t judge her too much for that.

Well, Jack didn’t want to let Sombra go. Seeing her walk in with Reyes meant that if he nailed Sombra to the wall, that meant he won something over Reyes. For the most of the meeting, it’s the lawyer talking to Jack and mom, with Reyes leaning back with a grin, and Sombra was sitting on the very edge of her seat, bouncing her feet and chewing at her nails. It was quite a verbal spar between everyone, until Sombra said something.

Jack was using the law to his advantage, sticking to the written word when it suited him and going by the spirit when it could mess with Reyes’ slick lawyer. And he was doing a good job pushing the lawyer about. But then, looking at the ground, Sombra said, “Vincent knows what happened on the Rhine.”

And Jack? He goes pale at that, glaring at the woman who was still looking at the ground. Sombra talking took everyone by surprise; even Reyes was confused. Jack starts yelling at her, saying she doesn’t know anything that happened on the Rhine. After all that, jittery little Sombra looks at Jack and says, “wanna bet?”

I got the heebie-jeebies seeing Jack fold so quickly. They came to their agreement; Sombra would stay in her little hole. No bribes needed to make sure her place was up to the city’s code, Jack just let her be.

Now in private, Mom and I tried to press Jack on what the fuck happened on the Rhine, and who Vincent was, but he didn’t say anything. I gave up, and Mom did soon after.

Sombra earned her rep not too long after Jesse fuckin’ McCree jumped outta Talon and into Ashe’s bed. It soon became apparent that Sombra was Reyes’ new pride and joy, almost as if he was making up for McCree running away. She knew damn near everything that was going on in the city. She didn’t come in to town soon enough to take some of the sting out of McCree’s defection; if she fell into Reyes’ lap any sooner, McCree could’ve jump ship and Reyes wouldn’t have lost a penny. Still, she was his new goose that laid golden, paranoid eggs.

If you had a debt, somehow Sombra knew. If you were having an affair, she knew. Got pulled over? Sombra knew. Drinking problem? Wanted to get out from someone’s thumb? Wanted to skip town?

No idea how, but Sombra fuckin’ knew. Hell, it was Sombra that recommended Orisa go to me to find a way out from under Efi’s thumb.

Thing is, she was so fucking paranoid it was a miracle she didn’t give herself a heart attack just from worrying. She believed that everything was out to get her. Fluoride in the water? Government mind control. Radio signals that can double as mind control? That’s the Russkies keeping tabs on us. The city’s building codes? Freemasons trying to standardize our sleep patterns to make us docile. The pyramid on our money? The Illuminati. Doctors? Good Lord, Sombra thought doctors were the devil incarnate. At best, they were unwilling puppets of the government, trying to control our minds with vaccines; at worst, they were lizard people trying to dose us with unnecessary drugs to keep us in line so they can steal our precious bodily fluids.

You name it, Sombra believed it, and probably knew a few people who were a friend of a friend of a friend who could swear by it. Seriously, the fact that woman didn’t give herself a heart attack is proof that God exists, or at least that has a twisted sense of humor.

This paranoia let to some rough moments with Reyes. See, Reyes wants her and her strange connections all to himself. But Sombra doesn’t see it that way; she doesn’t have loyalty, she’s an opportunistic paranoiac. She’s only out for one person: herself. All this business with Talon and the various gangs who try to run the city? Plebeian noise. If it doesn’t relate to some conspiracy or a direct threat to her, she doesn’t care.

Full disclosure, absolutely fucking nobody knows what counts as a ‘direct threat’ to her.

See, Sombra is more of an information broker. She keeps tabs on everything, and sells what she wants to when it suits her, most often for information that she doesn’t have. For a while, Reyes was the only one making a good enough offer for her to work for.

It was actually the fuck up Genji Shimada who first broke that streak. He was pissed that he was being treated like a kid, got a little too shitfaced to know better, and stormed up to Sombra’s door, demanding to know what was going down with Reyes so he could get out on top for once.

Sombra was telling him off until Genji drunkenly let it slip that a big shipment of dope was coming in. Sombra thought that was worthwhile, so she told Genji about one of Reyes’ gambling dens was having a high roller night. Genji got some boys, knocked it over, and came out on top. Almost started the big gang war the city was dreading; Bastion had to work overtime to soothe everyone after that crap.

Reyes wanted to sick the Widow on Sombra for that stunt, but Sombra said something, and he stopped. Probably the same kind of thing she told Jack about Vincent and some business out on the Rhine, but that’s just my guess. Anyways, Reyes started making sure he was the one buying from her. If anyone else made an offer, he outbids them, just to keep Sombra on his side.

If you could buy info from Sombra, it might be gold, it might be pyrite. Depends on what you offer her, and if her paranoid mind thought it was worth it to part with a few pieces of information. Thing is, I needed that paranoid mind right now. Bastion’s murders didn’t just plan this hit out to a fucking ‘T,’ they thought of everything. I was dealing with ghosts, which meant I had to call on a sombra to find them.

* * *

Driving into Talon’s territory always made me a bit nervous. I had nothing to fear; I wasn’t a cop anymore, but I cut my cop teeth with a beat by Talon’s territory. It made me nervous then, and I guess the few bullets that flew by me taught me to be wary of it even now.

My Raptora growled as I pulled up to Sombra’s place. She first moved into the abandoned trucking depot three years ago, and had stayed there ever since. I was put on stake out duty a few times to try and catch her, but never saw her leave. Hell, I only saw her in the flesh three times; first was when Jack dragged her to the station with Reyes and his lawyer, and two other times when everyone in the city got together to get a compromise worked out by Bastion.

And here I was, about to make this my fourth time seeing the shadow.

I parked, and climbed out of my Raptora. There were a few homeless people who were panhandling by me. I had a few coins, so I tossed it their way. Smiling, they nodded at me; they’d watch my Raptora. I made my way to the building.

The first floor was always opened. Before Sombra blew in, a few homeless people made this a temporary home. When Sombra claimed this place as her own, I thought she’d ask Reyes to kick out all of the homeless; instead, the number of down-on-their-luck bastards seemed to increase. And yet, Sombra never complained. In fact, she seemed to like them. And by ‘like,’ I mean she never had them kicked out, so we all just assumed.

There were a few men standing by a garbage can fire in the first floor, throwing up black smoke in the old truck docks. Seeing me, they nodded. I nodded back, just to be polite. I made my way up to the second floor, and found Sombra’s door.

Now that she could live here officially (still no idea _why_ she would), she bought a real sturdy door. Solid steel, bolted into the wall, it could probably stand up to a tank shell. Walking up, I pounded on the door, making it echo.

“Sombra, I need some info,” I said.

“Go away.” Damn, that was a quicker reply than I was expecting.

“This is about Bastion.”

“Don’t care, this town is going to shit,” Sombra yelled back.

“I’m trying to keep it from taking a nose dive into the shit.”

“You’re probably too late,” she bitterly laughed.

“Sombra, come on, I need your help.”

There was a pause. I heard footsteps thudding along the wooden floor; Sombra walked with absolutely no grace. If she had neighbors downstairs, she’d piss them the fuck off.

“You’re Fareeha Amari, aren’t you?”

“Can’t you tell?”

“By your voice? Not really, it’s a thick door.” Sombra paused. “You’re working to find Bastion’s killers, yes?”

“Of course.”

“You know about this murder then.”

I groaned. That meant she wanted to know about my work. I didn’t want to tip my hand on the investigation; who knew who Sombra sold to? Reyes might want to buy everything she knew, but I wasn’t going to assume she made an exclusive deal with Reyes.

But I needed hints, and Sombra would have plenty of those. I’d roll the dice and see what Sombra knew.

“Yeah, I do know about the murder.”

“Info for info. Always a good trade,” she said.

“Let me in, I’ll tell you what I know.”

I had damn little, but who knew what Sombra would put together in that twisted mind of hers? There was five heavy ‘clunks’ from the other side of the door; eventually, it swung open.

The last time I saw Sombra was a little over a year ago when Reyes dragged her to a meeting with Bastion.

“Damn, Sombra. The years have not been kind to you,” I said.

“The government doesn’t care what we look like,” she said, “only that we remain sleeping.”

Sombra was thin. Real thin. Like, the wind-would-blow-her-over kind of thin. She must barely eat. Her hair was black and wiry, and was obviously unwashed; hell, it was barely brushed, maybe was a step or two from getting locked into place. Her hair came down between her shoulder blades, and was kept in a rough ponytail with a rubber band. It was clear she didn’t shower, at least not regularly. Her face was rough as well. Her eyes were bloodshot, and had deep, heavy bags under them. A cigarette dangled from her lips as she let me in.

If she got some good sleep, ate well, and took a couple dozen showers, she’d be kinda cute. But she hadn’t, she wouldn’t, and because of that, she was _not_ kinda cute.

“Jesus, you alright?”

“Why does everyone say that?” She grumbled, letting me into her secure room.

“If you have to ask, that means you probably don’t know basic human dignity.”

“Everyone says that, too,” she mumbled, closing the heavy door and engaging all five of the massive locks.

Her place was a mess. Her room was the former office of the building; it was long, easily as long as the building itself. It had windows, but Sombra boarded most of them up when she claimed it as her home. There were a few slats high up by the ceiling that let light in, along with dozens of lamps. Just as Baptiste had said, the walls were covered with foil, but Sombra took the effort to paint it a tan kind of color; probably to kill any glare. It actually would’ve looked nicer if she didn’t paint the foil.

There was a rough bed tucked away in the corner; it wasn’t made. For most of the room, there were a few tables covered in inches of nick-nacks and pieces of paper. The walls had maps taped to it, with strung tied to needles on them. Not even I did that.

She also had what seemed to be a dozen tables strewn about the long room, filled with various bits of stuff. It was like Sombra lived in a junk drawer. Once she closed the door, she grabbed a pack of cigarettes from one of the tables, lighting a new smoke with the remains of her old cigarette. I saw several empty cartons scattered throughout the room, along with various full, used, and empty packs.

“What do you know?” Sombra asked, stubbing the dead cigarette out in an overflowing ash tray.

“How about I ask you what you know and we’ll work from there?”

“No deal,” she snapped, walking further into her mess. Sombra was dressed like a street urchin. Her clothes seemed third-hand, with rough patched pants, and a shirt that was two sizes too big for her. I think it was blue once, but now it was hard to tell. “Tell me what you know, and I’ll see what it’s worth.”

“Jesus, ‘show me’ much?” I grumbled.

“This city’ll blow up soon,” she replied. I followed her into her layer, trying not to wrinkle my nose at her odor. It leaked through my stuffed-up nose. There were some large tables in the middle of the room, again covered in junk. Most of the junk seemed to be books and sheets of paper. “I have to move, and fast.”

Sombra walked to one table that was actually clean in this junk drawer of a place. That table held a big, shiny coffee machine, the kind that diners had. It had two pots of full coffee on the side, and an empty one ready to be brewed.

“When the war comes to this place, I gotta stay one step ahead,” Sombra rambled, filling the machine’s filter with what looked like way too much coffee grounds. “Can’t get caught up, dragged down, taken in. You know what they’ll do to me?”

“Who’ll do what?”

Suddenly I realized I should’ve just smiled and nodded.

“The Conspiracy!” Sombra raved. “The fucking Conspiracy!! They’re out there, look.”

As the new pot brewed, Sombra grabbed a full pot of coffee and poured damn near half of it into a massive mug. She took a pull, barely bothering to take the cigarette out of her mouth, and walked over to a nearby wall. On said wall were pictures and clippings, with an entire ball of red string tying things together.

Physically tying it together, at least. Logically tying it together was a lost cause to anyone but Sombra.

“See? The Conspiracy,” she said with gravity, waving a hand at the massive work. It had to stretch a dozen feet in either direction, and went from the floor to the ceiling.

“Uh…I see…”

“You don’t,” Sombra snapped, taking another pull of coffee. “I’ve spent most of my life on this, and I can barely tell how deep it goes. It starts with the Freemasons, and Europeans coming to the ‘New World.’ See, they thought they had everything under their thumb over in Europe, but when they ‘discovered’ Africa and America, they realized they weren’t alone. Suddenly there were other cultures, other minds, and those minds had to be controlled. Why do you think they loved slavery so much, or took such joy in killing the Native Americans? They had to literally have everyone under their control, or else eliminate them.”

Sombra had smoked her cigarette down to the filter, and procured another smoke from seemingly nowhere. She lit it with the stub of her old one, all without breaking stride.

“They almost lost it with the American and French Revolutions, but that only got them to realize they had to change their plans,” she raved. “It nearly cost them everything, but it only gave them a new edge, a new lesson, a new weapon—!”

“Er, Sombra, this is…really interesting,” I stammered, “but I gotta focus on who killed Bastion before I…I, uh, go and take on this ‘Conspiracy.’”

“Bastion,” the paranoiac muttered, scratching her dirty hair. She killed her giant mug of coffee and shuffled further into her lair. “This is a distraction from my Conspiracy; they must’ve planned it, they must’ve found out I was getting too close to the Truth.”

Holy shit, I could hear Sombra put a capitol ‘T’ to Truth.

“This’ll undo me,” she rambled. “It was too good an opportunity for them to pass up…”

“Sombra, what can you tell me?” I asked, doing my best to be polite.

She looped around to the coffee machine where she refilled her massive mug with the other half of the pot. By then, a second pot was done brewing; she deftly moved the pots around so she could brew yet another pot.

“What can _you_ tell _me?_” She demanded, speaking as she began fixing another pot to Joe. “How did Bastion die?”

“Gunshots,” I said. “Two shots to the gut knocked him down, two to his heart, and the coup de grâce was a shot to the head.”

“Time of death?”

“A little after ten.”

“And what happened to your nose?”

“One of Ashe’s goons busted it,” I grumbled, gingerly rubbing my nose.

Sombra looked at me. She swallowed another mouth full of coffee, and chain lit another cigarette. This girl needed to calm down.

“Then you do know something.”

“Were you testing me?” I sputtered.

“I have to know if you have info I want,” she said. “I was just able to find those little pieces out, along with a very interesting detail. What killed Bastion?”

“A thirty-eight revolver. British service issue. Bastion had a gun given to him before he became the negotiator during the war, a ‘thank you’ for saving a friend’s life. He kept it in his desk.”

“Good, good,” Sombra said.

“Wait, you knew? How the fuck did you know that? Only the cops and Ashe know it, and Ashe has only known it for an hour or so.”

“’Small leaks sink great ships,’” Sombra said. “You better watch where you go mentioning things; never know who’ll be listening.”

“I came here for info, not to get a bout of paranoia myself,” I groaned.

“It’s not paranoia! They really _are_ out to get you!!”

Crap. Bad time to piss the recluse off.

“You’re right,” I said, backpedaling. “Bad attempt at humor.”

“I’ll say,” Sombra hissed, pulling out another cigarette. And I thought I smoked fast; she was chainsmoking like a fiend. “You clearly know what’s going on; your reputation as a private eye precedes you. Thing is, I still got a few missing pieces; pieces that you might have.”

After all this time, we were finally getting down to brass tacks.

“Info for info, right?” I said. “What you want to know?”

“How the fuck did these assholes get into the city?”

“That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” I sighed. All this smoking was getting me Jonesing, so I pulled one out. Sombra pulled out a lighter for me. “I found out how they got out of the city; it was through the Dorado port on Ashe’s turf. There was a gunfight yesterday. Whoever whacked Bastion used the gunfight as a distraction; they doctored the dock’s manifest, making it look like they left in a full trawler to avoid suspicion. I can only guess they came in the same way.”

Sombra looked at me, clearly perturbed.

“Fuck,” she hissed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

She killed both her cigarette and coffee. I actually cringed when she got another giant cup.

“This isn’t good,” she said, sticking a smoke in the corner of her mouth. She stood in front of her massive mural, no doubt looking for aliens or UFOs. “Not good at all.”

“Please tell me you have something.”

“Rumors,” she replied. “Just rumors. Whomever planned this whack out is a top-tier, government backed operation.”

“The government can’t be behind this, they can barely pave roads.”

“That’s what they _want_ you to think!” Sombra said, tracing a few red strings of twine. “I’ve been keeping tabs on some things, whispers. Only they can’t be whispers, not now. God, how could I’ve been so blind? I missed the signs.”

_Don’t antagonize the paranoiac, _I told myself. _Don’t antagonize the paranoiac, don’t antagonize the paranoiac…_

“What did you miss?” I stammered out.

“The syndicates here are drawing attention,” she said, pulling out some more red twine. “Someone doesn’t want us around, so they want to do something about it.”

“The gangs can’t be that big.”

“Not outside of the city, but it’s all about control,” Sombra said. “They want control. They want us asleep. They want us easy to control. The syndicates are bad, but they keep Them out of power.”

Jesus, now she was saying ‘them’ with capitals!

“This is a power play, can’t you see that?” Sombra demanded, making new threads on her giant wall-map. She looped one end of the twine around a cutout of a newspaper; it was the report of Bastion’s death. The other end was looped around a very large picture of a pyramid with an all-seeing eye. There were several dozen strings of red twine leading to it; that picture had several pins stuck on it just to hold all the string in place.

“Bastion held the peace,” Sombra continued, talking faster and faster as she looped the twine around, pacing back and forth in front of her wall of conspiracies. “He holds the peace, and suddenly he dies? Who in this city would do that? _Why_ would anyone in this city do it?! Everyone loved Bastion, he kept things going, he kept it moving, he kept everyone from killing each other. So ask yourself: who benefits from his death?”

“Jesus, now you’re sounding like my mom,” I groaned. “She’s always going on and on about following the money.”

“Money. Money, God, it’s always about the money,” Sombra hissed, pulling at her hair. “Money makes the world go ‘round, so They have to hoard it all for Themselves. With money, They can buy off anyone! That’s what this is about, this is about a play for the city to get more money, more power, more influence! Can’t you see it?”

Sombra was crazy, that much was clear. But the damn thing was, I didn’t think she was wrong. Back when I was a cop, Mom always taught me to follow the money, so maybe I was looking at the case the wrong way.

Bastion wasn’t robbed; he was executed. Who would benefit from him being six feet down? No one in this city, that’s for sure. Hell, Bastion was practically canonized here; no one would kill him. That could only mean someone from outside the city wanted him dead, which lined up with what I learned at the docks.

Somebody, or a group of somebodies, snuck into town, kill Bastion, then snuck out. They had to be the ones to benefit from his death. And how would the benefit?

“They’re trying to start a gang war,” I said.

“That _has _to be it,” Sombra said, a smile stretching across her face. With the bags under her eyes, it came across as a little creepy. “They start a war, and we do all the work for them. Talon, the cops, the Shimadas, Deadlock, they’ll all destroy each other, and They roll in and clean everything up with damn little effort. They take over, and They fill their pockets with all the money they could want, poison our food, steal our bodily fluids! They make us sleep again, They herd us like sheep, and They have their power.”

This was bad; the paranoiac was making sense.

“It certainly fits,” I grudgingly admitted. “Whoever did this had inside knowledge of nearly everything. Baptiste’s method of checking ships, Zarya’s security, they even knew that Bastion had a gun in his desk. They snuck in, killed Bastion, snuck out.”

“It’s our fluids,” Sombra muttered, making more red twine connections between various pieces of paper. “They want our fluids. They want our brains, our thoughts. They want it all for themselves. We can’t let Them have it.”

Finished, she went back to her coffee machine and killed the rest of the pot. She cracked open a new pack of smokes as she went to brewing yet another fucking pot.

“If I told you drinking all that coffee and smoking that much is bad for you, what would you say?” I asked.

“I’d say you’re sounding like a doctor.”

“I’ll just shut up then.”

Crap, this was bad. I didn’t want to think that someone was trying to infiltrate the city, let alone some mysterious ‘They,’ but this theory was holding a surprising amount of water. No one in the city would profit from Bastion’s death; that could only mean someone outside the city wanted to kill the poor man. Bastion’s death would trigger a gang war, and once everyone is sufficiently dead enough, someone else rolls in, and they got the city without hardly lifting a finger.

It was actually a pretty brilliant plan. Then again, maybe the paranoia was rubbing off on me.

“You wouldn’t happen to have an idea of who could pull this off, would you?” I asked.

“Can’t be the Templars,” Sombra said, downing half another pot in one go. “They’re too much of a blunt tool; this kill was too clean for them. Probably not the Freemasons, it’s more in the Illuminati’s wheelhouse.”

Okay, I had to get out of here. If I stayed any longer, I’d be giving my apartment a tinfoil wallpaper makeover.

“Thanks for the info,” I said, stubbing out the remains of my cigarette in yet another overflowing ashtray.

“God, I need to get out of this city,” Sombra groaned, pulling at her hair. “Need to get out, go to ground, find another place to expose Their lies…”

“Try to get some sleep, okay?”

“That’s when They want to move in, when we sleep,” she snapped. “That’s when our precious bodily fluids are most vulnerable.”

Sombra followed me to the door, opening it. Once I was out, she threw it shut, and the locks clicked into place.

I needed to clear my head from all this conspiracy junk, try and sort out what was useful and what wasn’t. I also needed to get my nose checked out. Maybe that blonde angel could help with all my problems.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While informative, Fareeha realizes she spent too much time with Sombra. To clear her head and get a better look at her nose, she goes to visit a blonde angel.

I pulled up to Torbjörn’s hotel, my Raptora shining bright under the neon lights. Night had fallen, and everything was cooling off, except for the tempers of those in power. I just hoped that they’d keep it together until I could come up with something more concrete than a half-baked conspiracy theory.

The valet driver opened the door for me, and I climbed out.

“Not a scratch,” I said, handing them the keys and a few rolled-up bills as a nice tip.

“Not a scratch,” she smiled.

I walked in, and saw Zarya standing around with a few of her men. She had changed to a simple button-downed shirt with rolled up sleeves, wool trousers, a vest, and a simple flat cap. Her men were dressed in a similar style.

“You’re back,” Zarya said. “This is a surprise.”

“Not looking for an interview, just need to get my schnoz checked out,” I grinned, tapping my nose.

“I hope whoever did that got it worse.”

I could still hear the poor asshole’s fingers being broken by Bob.

“They did,” I shivered.

I was about to walk past when Zarya put a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“I have to check everyone,” she said.

As tempting as it was to call Zarya paranoid, I knew it wasn’t the truth; Sombra set a pretty goddamn high bar in that regard. Besides, Zarya protected this entire hotel; Bastion’s death meant she had to step up her game.

“Don’t start looking for conspiracies,” I warned. “Once you start down that rabbit hole, it gets hard to stop.”

“Sounds like you have experience with it,” Zarya said, starting her pat down at my arms.

“I spent nearly an hour with Sombra.”

“By choice?”

“I needed some info, maybe even a rumor.”

“Did _you_ start down a rabbit hole?”

“I sure as fuck hope not!”

That got a chuckle from the dour Zarya. She finished her pat down and let me through. I nodded my thanks, and went to the bar. Angela wasn’t there, so I went to Bastion’s negotiation room. Sure enough, she was there, going through a stack of papers.

“Is Zarya making you feel safe?”

Angela smiled and looked up. She had changed into a nice, worn white dress with gold accents. The dress made her look like a doctor going to a night on the town. God, she was so beautiful. Once she saw me, her smile faded.

“Dear God, what happened to you?” She gasped.

“One of Ashe’s men had more guts than common sense,” I said. “You should see him now.”

“You didn’t beat him up, did you?”

“Not me, but Bob broke his fingers.”

“Oh, that man?” She grimaced. “Good Lord, that was a terrible thing to do.”

“They brought him to you?”

“At the risk of sounding vain, I _am_ the best doctor in the city.”

“I’m not doubting that, I’m just surprised Ashe would go to you. You would think she’d use one of her doctors, so it didn’t seem like her men were in any trouble.”

“I guess Ashe wanted to make a real point, let everyone know she means business.”

“Yeah, I guess she did.”

“Have a seat.”

I pulled up a chair at the negotiation table. Angela stepped away to grab a med kit, then came back to give me a quick look over. I did my best to hold still, but it still hurt like a sonuvabitch having someone gently examine it. Fortunately, Angela was quick and very light fingered.

“Well, I have some good news, some better news, and finally some bad news,” she said, putting a new, narrow bandage over my nose. Fortunately, I didn’t need any gauze to stuff it up.

“Hit me with the bad news first, doc.”

“This was a pretty bad break, it’ll take some time to heal,” she said. “It can take a month, maybe a bit more. I can easily see this leaving a nice light scar across your nose.”

“Ugh, this is gonna be a bitch,” I grumbled. “What’s the good news?”

“The good news is whoever set your nose did it at the right time; you won’t have a crooked nose or any impacted sinuses,” she said. “Was it you?”

“Yeah. Now _that_ was a bitch.”

“Then you did a great job. It’s nice and straight, and the bleeding has stopped.”

“Nice to get some good news. What’s the better news?”

“The better news is that you still look dashing,” she smiled.

That got my heart to skip a beat.

“Y-you’re just saying that.”

Oh come on, you can do better than that!

“Just being honest,” she beamed, closing her aid kit. “Would you like some pills for the pain?”

“Only if it’s aspirin. I’m not in the position to pick up another habit.”

“What habits do you have?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“As your doctor, I’d like to know what you indulge in,” she smiled, setting a gentle hand on my shoulder. “It might affect what I prescribe you.”

“You’re a cruel doctor.”

“I like to think I’m a very good doctor.”

“A real pretty one, too.”

That got a slight blush to creep along her cheeks. My stomach felt like it was going to float away.

“Indulgences,” she insisted. “Now, if you’d please.”

“Ugh, fine,” I groaned. “I like to drink.”

“Heavily?”

“O-only when I’m feeling low.”

“And how often do you feel low?”

“Damn, you’re thorough.”

“Like I said, I’m a very good doctor,” she beamed.

“You really are!”

God, please don’t let me scare this beautiful woman off…

“This whole city has a way to get you down. It’s…often I feel that way.”

“I see,” Angela said. “You can have aspirin. I’ll give you a bottle if you don’t feel like stopping by a drug store. But you’ll have to cut down on the drinking when you take it. There’s a chance it could lead to stomach bleeding.”

“Thanks, doc.”

“Y-you can call me Angela, you know that, right?”

“I do,” I said with a well-practiced lopsided grin. “But calling you doc makes you look extra cute.”

That got her all kinds of flustered.

“Is there anything else I can help with?” She asked, handing me a bottle of generic aspirin.

“Got some more questions, maybe I can bounce some ideas off you,” I said. My stomach chose this time to growl.

“Sounds like you need to get some food in you,” Angela giggled.

“It’s been a while since I’ve eaten,” I admitted.

“Then how about you take me to dinner, and we can talk all you want?”

That got me to stammer for a second.

“A-are you asking me out?”

“I’m asking you to ask me out,” she smiled. “After all, I feel so safe with such a strong, smart, and dashing detective.”

If I could get a date with this beautiful angel because of a broken nose, I wondered what I could get with a broken arm or leg!

“Then you’re in luck,” I said, trying to look calm and composed. But I knew I was talking faster. “I just got a new car, so I can drive you in style.”

“I’ll tell Zarya I’ll be going out.”

“She’s looking out for you?”

“She is,” Angela said. “Since I’m the de facto protégé of Bastion, she wants me to stay as safe as I possibly can.”

“That sounds like Zarya.”

Angela got up, going to the desk to grab her little purse. I stood up, and offered her an arm. Giggling, she demurely slipped her arm through mine. Now I was feeling like a giddy high schooler. I led her out of the bar, towards the hotel entrance.

“I’ll be going out, Zarya,” Angela said, waving at the large protector.

“If you’re not back by the morning, I’ll dredge the ocean for your body,” Zarya smiled.

Holy shit, did Zarya just crack a joke?!

“Stop it,” Angela giggled.

“Have a good evening, Dr. Ziegler,” she said, tilting her hat politely. Zarya locked eyes with me, and nodded knowingly.

“Did she just make a joke?” I asked as we left the hotel.

“Don’t tell everyone, but she’s really just a big teddy bear.”

“Oh, I can see the bear part; she’ll tear you apart without a second’s hesitation!”

The valet pulled up with my Raptora, tossing me the keys.

“My word, this is quite a car,” Angela said, oohing her appreciation.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” I grinned, opening the door for Angela.

“Does she have a name?”

I walked around to the driver’s side, and slid in as smoothly as I could.

“She’s my Raptora.”

“A bird of prey?” Angela smiled.

I cranked the engine, letting it roar to life. That was my answer. Angela gasped at it.

“You got a place in mind?” I asked. “Or would you like to hang around Orisa again?”

“It would be nice to see Orisa again. She’s a good cook, too!”

I put my Raptora in gear and pulled out. I waited until I was fully on the street before feeding her some gas. Angela gasped, grabbing the door handle and quickly buckled the seat belt. Laughing, I eased up a little, but was still passing most of the cars on the road.

Getting to Orisa’s was second nature to me. I felt like a smoke, and I had the lighter to my mouth before I realized I probably shouldn’t smoke with Angela so close to me.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, reaching for the pack to put the cigarette back. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“No, it’s fine,” Angela said. “I was getting the urge for one myself.”

I looked over at Angela. She held her hand out expectantly. I handed the pack to her, she pulled one out, and I lit her up.

“Thank you,” she smiled.

I lit mine next, and sat back to enjoy the ride. I stole glances at Angela all the while. Eventually, we pulled up next to Orisa’s diner.

“This is an amazing car,” Angela said, getting out.

“Glad you like it.”

We walked in, and Orisa greeted us with a wave, wearing her customary apron.

“Back for more?”

“It’s your fault for being a good cook,” Angela laughed.

“I’m taking that as a compliment,” Orisa grinned.

We sat in an empty booth.

“So,” Angela said, “I think we should get the business out of the way first, that way we can enjoy ourselves.”

“I like that,” I grinned.

“Let’s start with your broken nose.”

“That’s where you want to start?”

“I helped set a man’s broken fingers; no one told me what happened. I’d like to hear it from the horse’s mouth.”

“You asked for it. You mentioned a gunfight at Ashe’s docks, so I went to ask her about it. Two of her bigger goons took issue with me; they’re hired muscles, not hired brains. I took care of one, but the other got the drop on me, and you can see his handy work.”

I dramatically waved my hand at my nose. Angela hid her laughter behind the menu.

“Now Ashe didn’t like it, so she had Bob make an example. I didn’t want them to kill the bastard, but I had to look tough; I told Ashe to maim him.” I couldn’t help but shiver at the memory of the sounds of the bones breaking. “Kinda wish I went easier on him.”

“It’s a horrible injury,” Angela agreed. “But he’ll be able to use his hand sooner or later, it’ll just be a little painful, with reduced mobility. What happened next?”

“No one working for Ashe heard of a gunfight. Turns out, Jesse fuckin’ McCree is keeping his mouth shut for once. Something about it got him spooked, so I went to the docks he had the fight in, and found Baptiste.”

“Is he still working?” Angela groaned. “I told him that flu needed rest!”

“But Ashe doesn’t give sick time,” I replied. “That’s when I found that the manifest on a ship leaving the dock was doctored; someone used the gunfight to draw his attention from the book, and made a change so they could hide something, most likely these assholes leaving this city so this whole Bastion thing could die down, or blow up.”

“My word, this is such a change from a random gunfight.”

“It is. Talked with Sombra, trying to get a gauge of rumors.”

“That woman needs to get out,” Angela grumbled. “It’s not healthy for her to drink that much coffee and smoke so much, never mind her never leaving her room.”

“Don’t let Sombra catch wind of that, she hates doctors as is!” I grinned. “Actually, I should thank you for this. I was worried I’d be getting paranoid from visiting her, so this is keeping me sane.”

“I’ll send you my consultation fee,” she laughed.

“Got an idea of what you want?” Orisa asked, walking over.

“I’ll have a chicken Caesar salad,” Angela said.

“I’ll get your meatloaf plate.”

“Comin’ up,” she grinned, walking away.

“I asked Orisa why she never charges you, but she just said you saved her life,” Angela said. “How did you do that?”

“That’s a bit of a story,” I replied. “Orisa used to be a leg breaker.”

“No!” Angela gasped.

“God’s truth,” I said, holding a hand up. “She’s a big woman, probably as big as Zarya. She’s got a skill at breaking bones, but she doesn’t have a taste for it. Thing is, she got brought into this city on a debt. Rode in on a bus, but didn’t have much money to her name when she got off. Enough for a few meals from what she says. It was bad luck that she was in Talon territory. Have you heard of Efi?”

“I’ve met her a few times. Lord, it was scary to see a little girl be so ruthless.”

“She’s a crime prodigy,” I nodded. “Reyes heard about her with a tip from Sombra. Turns out Efi was running a little gambling ring in his territory, and was doing a good job, too. She had guys running Three-Card Monte, some craps tables, Blackjack, she even had a little roulette wheel. It was small time stuff, but it impressed Reyes. Instead of hunting her down or making an example of someone running on his turf, he took her under his wing, started grooming her for bigger and better things.

“Well, Efi was in the right place at the right time, while Orisa was in the wrong place and wrong time. She was new in town and hungry, and Efi offered her some food. Orisa didn’t know the city then as she does now, and took advantage of Efi’s offer. Efi drew the con out, and started working up Orisa’s ‘debt.’ That scared her, so she had to find a job. And as luck would have it, Efi knew a way for Orisa to work that ‘debt’ off.”

“Breaking legs.”

“Exactly. She did it for a few months, and quickly had enough of it. But Orisa learned a lot; like how to cover her tracks. Somehow she was able to get some info from Sombra, who led her to me, and then she hired me to find a way to get her out from under Efi’s thumb.

“Woo-boy, that was a case. Efi always talked about Orisa’s debt, but she never put anything down. Had to bamboozle a lotta bookies to look through their records and skim for Orisa’s name and debt, but couldn’t find anything. That’s when I realized it was all in Efi’s head. That was my in.

“I called for a meeting with Reyes, Efi, and Orisa. Told ‘em what the deal was, that Orisa was working off a debt that wasn’t anywhere. It’ll be easy to move the goalposts, right? Now Efi’s got a great head on her shoulders; she took exception with that. But Reyes asked what I’d do. I told him he could either wipe Orisa’s ‘debt’ away, or I can talk to the cops about him making a woman work for him with no pay; it was clearly slavery. And Jack would love to take the fight to him; if Efi held everything in her head, there wasn’t a paper trail. Meaning that Jack had all the cards with sticking it to Efi, and by proxy, Reyes.

“Reyes called everything square, and used it as a lesson to teach Efi to track her fucking debts before something like this happened again; last I heard, he’s got her doing small-time stuff to wisen her up. Orisa couldn’t pay me then, but she swore she’d find a way to make it even with me. So when she opened her diner, she doesn’t charge me. But I still pay.”

“God, I didn’t know you were so brave,” Angela gushed.

“It was just a job, I wanted to help Orisa,” I said, blushing.

“But standing up to Reyes the Reaper? That’s amazing!”

Orisa came back with a tray of our food.

“She’s busy getting you up to speed, is she?” Orisa asked.

“Yes. I’m sorry, but I never knew what happened, how you got this diner,” Angela said.

“And I have Fareeha to thank for it,” Orisa said, setting the plates down. Her meatloaf was swimming in her own personal ketchup glaze, and the vegetable side was looking crisp and delicious, a cornucopia of mixed colors. She even gave me a glass of soda, which was probably cut with some kind of booze. Smelling the meal my stomach growled. “The thing is, she doesn’t seem to like my way of thanking her.”

“I’m used to paying my way,” I replied, putting a napkin in my lap.

“Then let me pay mine.”

“Fine,” I grumbled.

Orisa turned away, proud that she finally got the last word. She didn’t notice me slip a twenty into her apron pocket.

“I thought you were going to let Orisa pay her way,” Angela giggled.

“She paid her debt off several months ago,” I replied.

“You’re a big softy.”

“Don’t go telling everyone,” I winked. “I have a reputation to keep!”

“Is that why you decided to be a private eye instead of a cop?” Angela smiled as she ate. “So you could hold onto your tough-woman visage while you secretly helped those in need?”

That got me to stop, only for a second. Still, Angela picked up on it.

“Was…is this a bad topic?” She asked.

“No, not a bad topic, it’s just that I kinda got a rant about that.”

“May I ask what it is?”

“You sure you want to know? I might end up driving you away.”

“I like listening to you,” she smiled.

Now how could I ignore that?

“Well, you said it yourself; I used to be a cop,” I said, working my way through my meatloaf as I talked. “My mom is Ana Amari, the second in command of the police force. She wanted me to serve with them, help me rise through the ranks and all that. I think she wanted to leave me a part of the city when the time came.”

“And you threw it all away?”

“I had to. I hate how this city works,” I grumbled. “All the dirty dealings, all the times we had to turn a blind eye because someone paid us to, all the backstabbing, it’s all fucking bullshit. Mom got me in the force the regular way, with me working my ass off. But I wanted to be a detective, just a really goddamn good cop, but the way she went to grooming me to take over for her, I just couldn’t do it.

“Everyone in this fucking city is money hungry. People sell their souls every day for a few scraps of green paper, doing horrible things to get ahead. Some of them don’t have an option, and I can’t blame them for doing what they have to to survive. But many people want money for the sake of money, not just to survive; it’s those assholes I hate. And the cops are some of the worst. Faking reports, mislabeling evidence, frame jobs, protection rackets, moving contraband, I was shown all their dirty games, and I hated it!”

I was working myself into a frenzy, talking faster and faster, letting my anger get the better of me. I wanted to hold back, but with the vitriol pouring from my mouth, I couldn’t. It was like all my hate was bubbling out of me.

“Sometimes I hate the cops even than the syndicates. A syndicate is out for itself, trying to suck as much blood and money out of the common folk as they can; that’s all they are, and that’s what everyone knows they do. But the police? They’re supposed to protect and serve. But underneath their badges, they’re just another money-hungry syndicate, busting people up, finding ways to steal money to line their own pockets, it’s the fucking worst.

“I became a private eye because I got a talent for finding things, tracking down the truth. I wanted to use that talent to be a good cop, but I couldn’t even passively take part of the broken system they made. So I went independent, and fuck everyone who tries to drain this city dry.”

With the rant I laid out, I half expected Angela to run after I finished. But she sat there, with a look on her face. It was…it couldn’t be. No, it was admiration. Realization. Something I said clicked with her.

“I never knew,” she gasped. “God, I thought you were just one of them; one of the bastards in the city out for themselves.”

“I’m not,” I said. “At least, I try to be. God, sometimes it feels like I missed the chance to die for something. Maybe I should’ve found a way to get into the War.”

Angela took my hand.

“No, I’m glad you didn’t,” she said. “My God, I never thought I’d find someone who hated this city as much as I do.”

“You hate this city?”

“How could I not?” Angela said, her lips curling into a sneer. “You said it yourself; everyone is out for themselves. They’re all simple minded, money hungry peasant children, wretched bottom feeders who would sell their mothers for a dollar. It’s disgraceful, disgusting how they degrade themselves, it made me want to do something!”

“And what did you do?”

Angela stopped, her eyes going wide as a realization of some kind washed over her.

The sneer disappeared from her face, her eyes grew soft, and she stared at her food, a sullen look in her face.

“I…I just want to help, so I helped the only way I know how,” she mumbled. “I’m a doctor. I want to heal. And the hospitals in this city are criminally underfunded, understaffed, and overworked. I came to make a difference.”

“And you wound up working for Bastion?” I said, painting a lopsided grin on my face, trying to lighten the mood. But it worked; I got a smile from Angela.

“I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or the right place, depending on how you look at it,” she said. “I was trying to get funding for a hospital at a city council meeting. Afterwards, Bastion approached me, asking if I knew how the city worked. I didn’t, and he slowly explained it to me. In gentle words, yes, but it was an eye opening moment for me.

“He apologized for bringing me down to reality, but I saw the compassion in his eyes. I asked what he did, and he said he tried to keep the peace. I asked if I could help him, and from that moment, I was brought in as a neutral doctor. I helped Bastion keep the peace until…”

She trailed off. Damn those assholes for killing Bastion.

“Hey.” I gently took her hand. “I’ll find whoever did this.”

“I bet you can,” she smiled. “You do have a good reputation.”

“Despite my best efforts,” I laughed.

“No, I think it’s with very good effort! You help people, and don’t want to play by the rules everyone else is using. I wish I was as strong as you.”

That made my heart flutter.

“We all have our own strengths. We just have to find the best way to use them.”

“Smart, tough, _and_ beautiful,” Angela beamed. “You really have it all.”

That got me to blush. Angela laughed at the effect she had on me.

“Thank you for this,” I said. “God, this is just what the doctor ordered.”

“You were looking for a reason to use that line, weren’t you?”

“I thought it could get you to laugh again.”

“You were right,” she chuckled. “But what is it that I ordered for you?”

“A real good dinner and a way to clear my head from this bout of paranoia that Sombra brought on.”

“Then I’m happy to help,” she smiled. “Especially if it keeps you from looking for conspiracies.”

“That’s the bitch of it; I think Sombra is actually onto something,” I snorted. “Someone knows how pivotal Bastion is; they killed him to try and get the syndicates to go at each other. No one here would’ve killed him, there’s no way they could profit from his death or a war.”

“Once again, money rears its ugly head,” Angela groaned, “and the money hungry peasant children bring out their worst fronts.”

“Exactly. But if someone gets the syndicates to kill each other, they can just roll on it at their leisure and pick up the pieces. It’s the only thing that fits.”

“So where does this leave you?”

“In a bad spot,” I admitted. “Something from the shadows is trying to blow this city up. I have to find it, without blaming someone who was in the wrong place and the wrong time.”

“I’d like to think they left some kind of trail; the Shimadas are very good at finding out who enters the city, considering their hold on the coast.”

“That’s the thing, these assholes haven’t left any trail so far. They slipped in past Baptiste, waltzed into the hotel like Zarya wasn’t a thing, and not even Sombra has a hint about it.”

“I guess that’s why they’re paying you a lot of money to find this,” Angela laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, makes my life hard as hell,” I grumbled. “Actually, that’s a good idea. I might as well follow up with Hanzo, he might know something I could use.”

I pushed my empty plate aside, and offered Angela a hand up.

“May I drive you back to the hotel?”

“I can add ‘polite’ to the list of charming traits you have,” she smiled, taking my hand.

I had to really pay attention to driving to keep myself from mentally floating away. God, I haven’t had a night this good in forever. I drove back to the hotel to drop Angela off.

“Thank you for dinner,” Angela said.

“And thank you for coming out with me.”

“There’s one last thing.”

“What’s that?”

Angela gently grabbed me by the lapels and pulled me over. She kissed me, short and sweet, before getting out of my Raptora.

“Visit when you can,” she waved.

I could feel myself blushing from that kiss. And my eyes lingered on her ass as she walked into the hotel; Zarya opened the door for her.

Fucking hell, I got a kiss! I could do anything now.

Smiling like the love struck idiot girl I was, I put my Raptora in gear, and headed to the north of the city to talk with Hanzo Shimada.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fareeha goes to talk with the Shimadas, only to see that she truly has her work cut out for her.

The Shimada clan is, to me, the most sympathetic group of cutthroat bastards in the city. And I don’t mean it in a patronizing manner. They’re still vicious, dirty bastards, it’s just that I kinda feel for them, and totally understand why they wanted to break all the laws and run the city for themselves. Low bar to clear to be sure, but they’re the only ones who can clear it. Whether that’s a good thing to cheer or a bad thing to celebrate I could never decide on.

The War changed a lot of things for everyone the world over, not just the people who fought in it like my mom or Jack. They went out there to fight, and came back changed. But back home, well, things didn’t get off to a great start to say the least. When the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, it changed everything, especially for coastal cities like this one. It brought up a lot of uncomfortable questions. Like if the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, maybe they’d try to shell the coast, or launch an invasion.

Things got so scary, I could almost understand why steps were taken to assuage those fears. Almost. I can’t totally understand the steps they took, and I sure as fuck don’t want to let the assholes in charge off with what was done.

Roosevelt signed an executive order to round up all the Japanese and put ‘em in internment camps. People who’d lived here for their entire lives, people who were born here. Not just Japanese immigrants, but second- and even third-generation Japanese-Americans, they were pulled from their houses, bussed inland, and thrown into fucking camps, all to let their white neighbors sleep at night, knowing the people who couldn’t be traitors and spies weren’t traitors and spies.

Just thinking about it pisses me off. Maybe that’s my biggest flaw: I don’t get hate. Don’t get me wrong; if you kick a puppy, I’m gonna hate you. But I can’t hate you because you’re related to someone who kicked a puppy. If I’m gonna hate you, I’m not gonna hate you not by the color of your skin, but on the content of your rotten character.

Like I said, maybe that’s my biggest flaw. Maybe that’s why I can’t rationalize with the people who cheered when the camps were opened. Then again, I don’t want to.

Look at me, getting off topic. Back to the Shimadas. They were rounded up like all the other Japanese-Americans, and they spent the entire War in an internment camp. I’ve seen a few pictures, and they were shit holes. When the War ended, the American government slowly remembered they weren’t supposed to act like Nazi fucking Germany. So they finally let them out, and bussed them back to homes they hadn’t been to in years without so much as a ‘sorry.’

Many of their homes were abandoned, many were reclaimed by bottom-feeding greedy fucking opportunists. There wasn’t a whole lot of places for the Japanese-Americans to go to. The city had some run-down neighborhoods to the north, up by the industrial shipping ports, so that’s where they got pushed to. Everyone started calling it Little Asia, at first to get some racist joke in. But it’s what the Shimada clan did that brought a sense of pride to the name, so they got the last laugh.

The years after the War were rough for the Japanese-Americans. They were pushed around, first to the camps, then to the slums of Little Asia in the north. They were flat broke, scared, half-starved, and more than a little paranoid about being packed up and shipped off again. Thing is, that also presented a very good opportunity. One that Hanzo Shimada decided to take advantage of.

The cops didn’t patrol too far into their new hand-me-down neighborhoods; not even Jack could order his men to do their best jobs up there. Fucking racist bastards. Since the cops were damn near useless, that let Hanzo step in to make a union of sorts. He helped organize a group of tough men to keep things safe.

The men he signed up into his little union protected Japanese-American houses and businesses from the real scum of the Earth; people who wanted to prey on the tiny, yet low hanging pickings the new Little Asia had to offer. Stores that were robbed or ripped off, Hanzo stepped in with a squad of protectors and guards. All it took was a small fee to keep you safe.

Soon, Hanzo had to bring on more men to help everyone who wanted to be protected. Fortunately, there were plenty of Japanese-American men who needed work, so Hanzo put ‘em to work.

His little union grew, and helped bring in some money to the area. With his men getting money, they bought at their stores, putting money back into the community. The problem was, most of their money came from other Japanese-Americans. Having money move about is great, but Hanzo realized he needed money coming in from outside Little Asia.

There wasn’t a whole lot of legitimate ways to do that, not at the speed that Hanzo wanted it done at. But after spending years in a camp, Hanzo wasn’t about to play by the same rules that locked him up. Honestly, I can’t blame him for that.

The Shimadas had lived in America for a generation or two; Hanzo and Genji were born American citizens, after all. But they still had family over in Japan. And Japan had a pretty damn big empire before the War. The Shimadas in Japan had their hands on several dirty little things, and somehow kept them after the War ended. So Hanzo sent them letters.

His family had grown some opium in several spots, and had mostly sold to the healthcare industry, making morphine for hospitals and the such. But all it took was a few adjustments, and opium was sent over to Hanzo to be turned into heroin. The first thing he had to do was find a way to smuggle the smack in.

Fortunately, Little Asia was by the northern docks. The shipping companies there liked to use Japanese-American workers because they could pay them peanuts. All Hanzo had to do was guarantee them better money, and they’d do whatever they want him to do.

When the first shipment of opium came in and was turned into heroin, Hanzo made a lot of money. And as more came in, he made his own shipping company. Suddenly, every Japanese-American wanted to work for Hanzo. Suddenly, the other shipping companies were facing a shortfall of cheap workers. They were bullied out, leaving Hanzo with the biggest shipping company in the city, and well up and down the coast.

As lucrative as the legitimate shipping business was, Hanzo sold smack first and foremost. But he didn’t sell to his own people; he believes that the Japanese-Americans had suffered enough, and I’d agree with that. But he knew people in town who could use a little something-something. He sold smack to other areas of the city, and suddenly Hanzo had money flowing into his pocket, and into the pockets of Little Asia, especially when their legitimate businesses started growing. But Hanzo wasn’t about to simply be content with a little heroin ring. He wanted more. Maybe he got that much from his brother, Genji.

Genji is a fuck up, no doubt about that. He neither has the brains nor the patience to be a big player. He wants everything, but that might be because of his time in the camp. And as much as I hate the asshole for being an asshole, I still can’t find it in me to blame him. Genji was one of the first people to join his brother, and was always the one to push his brother to do more and get more, because they had nothing, and neither brother wanted to be reduced to that again.

They were making mad money, and a name for themselves, in heroin; but Genji wanted more. At first Hanzo told his brother he was being greedy, but then he realized Genji was onto something. Hanzo had to diversify.

Marijuana wasn’t that big a drug, but the American government got another racist bee in their bonnet about it. Some assholes up in the government didn’t like Mexicans, and Mexicans liked to smoke marijuana, like a lot of people do. So if Mexicans liked marijuana, marijuana had to go. Seeing the opportunity to press further out from the northern docks of Little Asia, Hanzo got into selling dope. That opened several doors into the south-eastern part of the city, which was Talon territory at the time, and would soon become Deadlock territory.

Pushing marijuana got Reyes more than a little pissed off. Not only was the majority of his guys being targeted for being Mexican, but some upstart Japanese-American assholes were stealing his operation. That led to some of the first big fights between two syndicates.

Of course, Hanzo was ready. With Japanese-Americans pledging themselves to the newly minted Shimada Clan, they were ready to prove themselves. Reyes expected a rag-tag group of people fresh out of the camps, but Hanzo was big on order, and had quickly trained up his men into a real force to be reckoned with. The first few months of the little war led to a de facto Shimada victory; Reyes had to force them all out in one go, but all Hanzo needed to do was survive.

And he did more than survive; he _thrived_. His dope and smack business was exploding, he was branching out into smuggling goods and fencing them, there was their protection racket, he even had some gambling rings open in the Little Asia territory, and gambling was at that point strictly a Talon business.

Soon, the violence was spilling over from Little Asia and drive-bys in Talon territory, getting into the downtown area. That meant Jack had to lay down the law instead of being bribed into silence. He forced a peace on Reyes, and Hanzo just had to sit back and grin. That had to be the last time Reyes underestimated anyone ever again.

That made the Shimadas _the_ name in smuggling, at least until Calamity Ashe rolled into town a year or so later and Genji fucked it up. The northern ports by Little Asia boomed, and soon Hanzo was offering to building more docks so the city itself could grow. Of course, bigger docks and bigger ships meant bigger shipments of dope and smack, and Hanzo knew that; it wasn’t like he was doing this out of the goodness of his heart. And with all his money, Hanzo renovate damn near in his neck of the woods. He took Little Asia from a token, vaguely racist joke and turned it into one of the best neighborhoods of the city.

There’s a lot to admire about Hanzo. And I do kind of admire him. But he’s a drug trafficker and a mob boss. Because of that, I’d always hate him.

But professionally, I really respected the guy.

* * *

Darkness was falling, and Little Asia was lighting up. They had permanent ‘paper’ lanterns strung out across the telephone poles, which I always felt a little weird about. Sure, the place was called ‘Little Asia,’ but did they really have to go all out on it?

Maybe that was some kind of joke. They had to be so Asian, they had to bend over backwards to prove it, or use it to set us ‘foreigners’ at ease. Still, the lanterns were pretty, and the storefronts were just as fabulous. Since Hanzo had footed the bill for damn near every renovation in the area, everything was new. The paint was new, buildings were new, windows were new, and everything looked great. Little Asia was one of the best neighborhoods in this town, with thriving non-Shimada clan run businesses, good priced houses, and award winning schools.

I parked my Raptora in a small lot by the Shimada restaurant. Had to pay two whole fucking bucks to park anywhere, Hanzo really knew how to gouge people. Still, it was right by the restaurant he used as his base, so it wasn’t that bad. I saw plenty of hired Shimada muscle around the street. There were some guys sitting in front of a few stores, and once they saw me, they let everyone know I was walking up.

“Gentlemen,” I said, walking up to the restaurant. “Is Hanzo in? I need to speak to him.”

One of them held up a hand.

“Need to check you,” he said.

“Would it matter if I said I wasn’t packing?”

The hired muscle shook his head ‘no.’

“Damn. You at least got a lady here who could do the deed?”

One of the goons leaned into a restaurant.

“Mei, we need you for a pat down.”

A woman walked out, dressed in typical bartender attire; bone-white shirt, black vest, and sleeve garters keeping the sleeves rolled up. She had her black hair done up in a bun, and was painfully cute.

“Evening, Mei,” I said.

“Fareeha Amari. We don’t get many private eyes here,” Mei said in her soft accent. Most of the people living in Little Asia were first or second gen Asian-Americans, born on American soil. Mei was one of the smaller population that were immigrants.

“More used to a specific clientele?” I asked. “Or is having an empty restaurant in the middle of Little Asia profitable?”

Mei and the goons gave me a hard glare. I knew damn well the restaurant was a front, but I had to toe the line a little. Then again, I was still a little giddy from that kiss Angela gave me. I guess asshole me doesn’t just come out when I’m drinking, she comes out when I’m feeling fucking great.

“Did your tongue give you that nose?” Mei asked, pointed to my patched up schnoz.

“Believe it or not, it didn’t.”

“You’re right, I don’t believe it,” she said, patting me down. “You should know the people we have here. Allegedly.”

“Allegedly. Of course,” I grinned.

“She’s clean,” Mei said. “Come on in.”

“Thanks.”

Mei walked in, and I followed her. There were plenty of very expensive, very nice mahogany tables in the restaurant. If it had more space, it could be as good as Torbjörn’s place in the hotel. But Little Asia was built to be small, which kept it from being really nice. It was cozy, but on the cramped side.

“I take it Hanzo knows I’m here?”

“He’ll be down soon,” she said, returning to her place at the bar.

“Then I’ll have a drink,” I said, pulling out my wallet.

“Came to the right place,” Mei chuckled. “What do you want?”

“Kinda feeling a mojito.”

Mei went to work, mashing up a few fresh mint leaves as she poured the drink. I took a sip, and gave her a bigger tip; the mojito was fucking great.

“I see that my investment is working hard.”

I turned around and saw Hanzo Shimada walking out from the kitchen area. He had that cashmere long coat on again, but this time wasn’t wearing a suit, rather a dress shirt on and slacks. Maybe he was making some rounds.

“I thought you’d like seeing me spend money in your place,” I said, turning around.

“I would rather you use my money to find who killed Bastion,” he replied, walking over to a nearby table. He pulled the chair out for me, and I sat down next to him.

From the kitchen, the door swung open, and Genji Shimada stalked in. He was dressed in fine clothes that he seemed to detest. His shirt and blazer were wrinkled, he didn’t wear a tie, and his hair was disheveled. He walked to the bar, where Mei handed him a drink of some kind, all while shooting him the stink eye. He walked over, and sat down at the.

“Is she squandering our money?” Genji asked taking a big pull of his drink. I didn’t know what Mei mixed him, but I got a little whiff, and I could tell it was strong. Then again, he already seemed a little blitzed.

“She’s using our money well, I hope,” Hanzo sighed.

“This is a surprise,” I said. “Have to admit, the way things went down before Bastion got whacked, I thought you’d be in the doghouse much longer. You know, the whole fucking whores thing…? Oh, can’t forget the fucking across syndicate lines thing, too. You broke poor Moira’s heart.”

“Like that harpy has a heart!” Genji laughed. “But she fucks like no one’s business.”

“He’s still in trouble, don’t you worry,” Hanzo said, glaring at Genji.

“It was just a few whores,” Genji said.

“A few whores who aren’t even Asian, and a white woman,” Hanzo said. “And you can’t forget about the men, too! I might not care where you stick your dick, but father does. We can’t afford to have father be angry at us, it would make us look weak to the masses.”

“Nothing ‘weak’ about what I was doing with them,” Genji grinned.

“You two need a minute to work something out?” I asked. “I hate interrupting family things.”

“Yes, you should go,” Genji said. “Walk out, get into your car, and don’t come back here. If we want to know what you’re doing with our money, we’ll call you.”

“Real friendly crowd here.”

“’Friendly?’” Genji laughed. “Even if you’re sarcastic, let me lay this out for you.”

He leaned close to me, and I could see the barely hidden rage in the pit of his eyes, along with the heavy whiff of alcohol on his breath.

“You are not welcome here,” Genji said frostily. “You are the reason our people have suffered so much.”

“You think being shipped off to a camp is bad?” I said. “Try having generations of your people enslaved.”

“You didn’t live through slavery. We lived through our internment!”

“Okay, how about some Jim Crow laws? I can’t exactly safely travel throughout this great nation of ours, and I’m goddamn lucky this town doesn’t have any ‘whites only’ signs.”

“You think _that_ is bad? Try being treated as a monster by the men who should be here to protect us,” he spat. “That suffering is nothing.”

“So what you’re saying is that we shouldn’t throw a pity party for ourselves, right?”

Genji glared at me. I glared back. Then Genji realized Hanzo was glaring at him as well. Scowling, he leaned back.

“Thank you for putting my brother in his place,” Hanzo said, glaring at Genji. “It’s tiring doing it myself.”

That got Genji to snort.

“I just hope I didn’t piss you off being that flip about the camps,” I said.

“There have been plenty of people who have been shittier about it.”

“And I don’t want to get on that shit list.”

“Then you don’t have to worry,” Hanzo said. “I won’t plan on holding that over you any time soon.”

“Oh good,” I sighed. “Last thing I need in my life is a pissed off Shimada on my ass.”

“Because you don’t want a Japanese man stalking you?” Hanzo asked, his eyebrow raised.

“I don’t want _anyone_ with a grudge and deep pockets stalking me,” I replied. “Hanzo, I don’t hate you because you're Japanese. I hate you because you’re a drug runner. And I hate Genji because of all the crap he’s done.”

“It’s refreshing to be judged on the content of my character for once,” Hanzo laughed.

“Even if your character fucking sucks?”

“Careful, dick,” he grinned. “You’ll get on my shit list that way.”

I laughed with Hanzo. Genji was still fuming. I should tell Moira about this; she loves getting on Genji’s nerves since he ‘cheated’ on her.

“What do you know?” Genji demanded.

“First, what I’d like to know is if there’s any mob or syndicate trying to make gains into this city,” I said. “You’re one of the first people to know what’s going down outside the city.”

“You don’t want to talk to Sombra?” Hanzo asked. “I still don’t know how that woman learns what she knows, and to know it so fast.”

“Seriously,” I snorted. “I got a few things from her, but I want to make sure I’m not going on a paranoid mind trip.”

“There’s nothing going on outside the city,” Hanzo said.

“Bullshit, there’s the pressure from the north,” Genji said, taking a pull of his drink.

Hanzo shot his brother a very dirty glare. Genji just shrugged.

“Since my brother doesn’t want to talk about it, there’s a few groups looking to make headway into this city,” Genji said. “They always are. But so far, it’s all talk.”

“Thank you, Genji,” I said, taking out my notepad. “You know, as your detective, I have to know everything so I can do my job. So thank you for letting me do my job.”

I gave Hanzo a look for that. He was pretty pissed at his brother, but a deep breath got Hanzo to calm himself down.

“Then since the cat is out of the bag,” he said, “I should let you know that the pressure from the north is perfectly normal.”

“How so?” I asked, jotting down notes.

“Heroin is big,” Genji said with a shrug. If he was speaking this plainly, he must be pretty shitfaced. “It’s getting everywhere, and people are loving it.”

“So naturally you want to expand,” I said, jotting notes down. “Sorry, you _allegedly_ want to expand the business.”

“Businesses want to grow, regardless of industry,” Hanzo said tightly. “That’s all I can say.”

Hanzo said that last part more to Genji than to me.

“But these people in the north…”

“They don’t like the idea of ‘a bunch of zipper heads’ having all the business,” Genji spat, using heavy finger quotes. “Fuckers. We’re born here, we’re as American as they are.”

“Don’t bother trying to correct them, racists are immune to logic.”

“That’s the fucking truth,” Genji laughed. “Still, they don’t want us expanding. They’ve sent a few threats, but they don’t have the muscle to back it up.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. It looked like Sombra’s paranoid idea wasn’t that paranoid. It seemed that someone was finally following through with a threat. Considering that the Shimadas were the name in smuggling, these assholes sneaking in through Ashe’s turf could either be a racist message of ‘we don’t need to use you to get what we want,’ or it could be a ‘look what we can do without you’ kind of message.

“Does that help?”

“Sadly, it does.”

“How is that a bad thing?” Hanzo asked.

“Means this rabbit hole I’m in goes deeper than I thought,” I sighed. “That means Kansas is gonna go bye-bye for me.”

“How much longer will you need?” Hanzo said. “The entire city is waiting on pins and needles.”

“You don’t need to tell me what happens if I get this wrong, trust me, I’ve been picturing how bad it’ll be nearly all the time,” I said. “I got a good idea of what happened, now I just need to try and put some proper names down on this.”

“Then I’m glad our money is working,” Hanzo smiled.

“It’s working really hard,” I said, getting up. “Gotta go shake a few branches, see what falls out.”

Hanzo and Genji nodded. I got up, giving my empty glass back to Mei. She took it with a smile.

Fucking hell. It looked like someone outside this city wants to start some shit and get the syndicates to do their dirty work for them. Honestly, it’s pretty clever. Lazy, yes, but you have to work smart, not hard. But this is going to be a problem. I only know people in the city; it’s kind of my specialty. Now I have to find someone who knows something about the outside of the city.

I might have to go back to the cops and talk to Jack. Ugh, I’ll do it tomorrow. It’s getting too late, and I want to mentally replay that kiss I got from Angela before this good mood really ‘slips through my fingers.’


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After talking to the Shimadas, Fareeha decides to talk to the police. But first, a certain blonde somebody drops in her lap.

The police.

Man, fuck the police.

They were supposed to serve and protect, and while there were plenty of examples of the police doing their job, such as my little tenure with them, they’re also terribly, terribly corrupt.

Plenty of men went off to the war and came back different. Plenty of women, too; my mom was one of them. But they came back, and they had to have some structure in their lives. They had to have order, and they didn’t like being told that they couldn’t have what they wanted.

There was a big wave of veterans applying for spots on the force, and the police at the time were thrilled to have them. They needed rough men to keep the peace, especially since Talon was busy making a killing when everyone was off at War.

Reyes ran the town, but he did it a little too well.

See, when America got into the War, they geared up with a draft. A lot of men got grabbed; America had to get on war footing, and they had to do it fast. That left a very, very big market open for those who’d never get drafted, namely minorities, because Uncle Sam couldn’t have a bunch of minorities showing up to fight; it had to be a bunch of white men.

This left a bit of a void for the cops, and Gabriel Reyes saw an opportunity. And so he made Talon. In those days, Talon was everything. Drugs, guns, smuggling, gambling, a smattering of prostitution, hitmen, they owned the entire city.

Then the War ended, the soldiers came back, and they saw that Talon controlled the city. Can’t say I blame Talon for doing what they did; after all, when the cat’s away, the mice will play. Talon had a great time running the city when no one else was here, but now the police were filled with veterans who wanted to take ‘their’ city back. I’m sure plenty of ‘em wanted to push Talon back because they were criminals, but there were plenty who didn’t like seeing a Mexican-created and Mexican-majority syndicate run ‘their’ city. Racist bee, meet bonnet.

With a bunch of motivated veterans, the then-Chief of Police decided to do something about it, and oh boy did he do something. The cops went after anything that brought Talon money. Gambling dens, smuggling rings, you name it, the cops went after it. Talon couldn’t do that much about it, either. If too many cops died, all hell would break loose at the federal level.

Oh, Reyes still pushed back, took some shots at the cops, killed a few, but the cops had momentum built up at that point. What’s more, they had a lot of good will with the people. Honestly, those were good times to be a cop. It was those times that made me want to be a detective.

But where there’s good, the bad will always follows.

See, some of the veterans who got badges wanted a little more than the fame and recognition they got from going after Talon. They just risked their lives to stomp around Europe and punch Hitler in the face, now they were risking their lives again in their own backyards; they believed they deserved a bigger reward, dammit! Being human, I can’t blame ‘em for being greedy. But I can blame ‘em for doing what they did.

The then-Chief of Police was as happy as a pig in shit. His boys were cleaning up the town, and looking good while doing it. So as long as they kept going after Talon and cracking gang skulls, he let them do whatever they wanted to.

That was a big mistake.

The greedy vets couldn’t steal a lot from evidence lockers, but they had other things going for them. Namely, some Talon books that were seized in raids. Those books had names, they had dollar amounts, they had accounts. It wasn’t all of the income Talon had, but it was enough to get some gears turning.

One book had the names of people who paid protection money to Talon. Those greedy cops strolled in to the people paying the racket, and said they’d be taking over the protection business. This didn’t sit well with a lot of people, but who would believe whom: a businessman who said a cop beat him up and broke his stuff, or that cop who was a war veteran with a few shiny medals on his chest?

At least, that’s the way it was for the first couple dozen complaints.

The cops who were running the protection racket had gotten their first real taste of money. Money they didn’t have to pay taxes for, money that came in under the table, money that let them get what they wanted as a ‘thank you’ to their services.

They liked it. And there were others who wanted in.

So when the complaints of police brutality and corruption started rolling in, many cops wanting to get in on the racket knew they had to get smart. But the protection racket was already up and running, and run by dumb, money hungry thugs who just so happened to have a badge.

That’s where Jack Morrison came in.

Jack was a farm boy from Indiana who worked his way up to Lieutenant. Jack says he could’ve stayed in and moved up higher after the war, but he had his fill of fighting. So he came back, but couldn’t go back to the little farm he had before the War. He saw the world, and he wanted to be part of that world. So he moved out west, came to the city, and decided being a cop would be a nice way to relax until he heard all the dumb stuff the dumb cops were doing, and he knew he had to set it right.

Then Jack saw what kind of money they were making.

So he made a big show of going to the Chief of Police himself, and pitching a program to get things back into tip-top shape. He called it the Reformation Program. Flashy name like that, it’s easy to see why it was eaten up.

Of course, Jack didn’t reform the bad bunch so much as organize them. But he did it with such flair and charisma, no one noticed he was growing an organized crime syndicate inside the police until damn near everyone was corrupted by it.

Jack personally went to the people the grunts roughed up for protection money, and made it right with them, no more rackets. Then maybe a few days or a few weeks later, their shops were randomly brutalized by persons unknown. Jack went back to them in person. See, he had heard what had happened, and wanted to make sure he got to the bottom of it. And then, by the time his investigation was done, he came up with squat. He was so very sad, he wanted to do more, he wished he could do more, and it happened again, and he was working so hard, but other people were being attacked, he was drawn in a dozen directions, please, I really want to help…

Then the people began wishing they had their protection back. Jack would balk at that, say those days were done, but the people would loudly insist that it might’ve been a racket, but at least they were protected. So Jack worked a deal out with them, they went back to paying, and Jack made sure their shops were watched.

The mistake the dumb money hungry grunts made was they thought their strength was the be-all-end-all. Jack knew that you couldn’t give the stick without first offering a carrot. And his plan worked out wonderfully.

People paid their protection fees, and were happy to do it. The Reformation Program was bringing in money under the table, the complaints against the police dropped like a rock, things were looking good again, and the Chief was happy.

But where there’s some good money to be had, people will always want in. Jack was approached by more and more cops wanting a cut. That’s where my mother came in.

They say that behind every great man is a great woman. Jack was a great man, and my mom was pretty great, too. She started the War wanting to make a difference working with medicine. That didn’t last too long, and she ended up picking up a rifle to help kill some Nazis. But her luck ran out, and she lost an eye. She came back real bitter, and also pissed as hell that she wasn’t living the kind of life she wanted, all because she had the wrong skin color. But to get the life she wanted, she needed money. So she joined the cops as a simple secretary, pledging to herself that she’d work her way up.

She started off a straight shooter, just like Jack. But she didn’t like taking shit, and Jack found that attractive. They got involved pretty early on, and only found more things about each other to love. Jack might’ve came up with his “Reformation Program” to straighten the dumb muscle up, but it was my dear sweet mother who encouraged him to think bigger, to scale up.

My mom and Jack built a system. Jack spun the idea to the Chief to expand the program, use it not to just straighten out the occasional bad apple, but to improve ‘community outreach.’ Honestly, I should be glad that Jack decided to be a cop and not a politician. He knew how to pretty things up, how to spin it, how to make you think he was on your side when all he cared about was his bottom line.

The Reformation Program was expanded, and thanks to mom, their unofficial one was expanded with it. More places were under his protection, and that led to them selling indulgences, little ‘get out of jail free’ cards if you paid them enough. Get enough of those indulgences, you could literally get away with murder. Evidence went missing, testimonies were altered, and cops let you off with a warning.

And those were the services that were sold the public. Cops themselves were practically bulletproof. Take Gerard for example. He was an abusive alcoholic, but he never once was threatened with jail time, or any real push back from the people he hurt. Not until Amélie finally had enough of his crap and killed him.

Allegedly.

Sure, there were limits to how much you could get away with, but that depended on how much money you had and what problem you needed to go away. A dead body cost more than a DUI, and there were plenty of unscrupulous cops who’ve spent a lot of time around dead bodies in the War and knew how to make them go away. So a dead body cost you.

To the outside world, Jack was running a very, very successful officer program. That got him recognition from the Chief and the Mayor, and he rose up the ranks. Talon was still on their back foot, dealing with the pressure the cops were putting on them; that meant that there was plenty of opportunities for Jack and his badged up thugs to take over various rackets.

Protection, indulgences, escorts, even some light smuggling from what I heard. You can’t expect a cop to pull over a drug mule if the cop _is_ the mule, right? Jack and mom were rolling in it, the men under him were rolling in it, and more men wanted in. The business was expanding, all thanks to his drive and my mother’s ideas.

Because of the stellar success of Jack’s Reformation Programs, the Chief of Police talked with the Mayor and decided to take a well-deserved early retirement. And who better to take over as the new Chief of Police than the golden boy, Jack Morrison?

Jack took over, and brought mom along with him. The King and Queen were in power, long live the King and Queen. Money was rolling in, the police finally seized full control of the downtown area, and were pushing out to the south-eastern part, real hard core Talon areas. It was a good time to be an amoral, greedy cop.

Eventually, Reyes decided that he was done playing patty-cake, and Talon started hitting back hard. Cops started getting hit, they hit back, it was a brutal war. They even took some shots at my mom. Blood quickly flowed, and that was enough to get some unwanted attention. Eventually, the Feds started sniffing around.

That’d be good news for law and order, but bad news for Jack and mom’s ‘side project.’ If the Feds really started sniffing around, they’d go down just as bad as Reyes and Talon would, so Jack organized a meeting to set a peace in place.

Jack and mom laid it out real well for Reyes. Stop the war, let the heat die down, and Jack would promise not to encroach on any more of Reyes’ territory, and Reyes himself could stay on top of his little kingdom. But Reyes was used to running the whole town, not just part of it. And if he couldn’t have it, he’d take Jack down with him.

Well, Jack called his bluff. Reyes could either live with them splitting the town, running a portion of it, or he could go to jail, most likely for the rest of his life. Remember how the US government didn’t like Mexicans? Reyes imagined how he’d live if he got sent to jail. He folded, and the city was split in two.

The peace was tense, but Jack was worried about taking the fall for everything he’d done. Mom? Well, she knew it wasn’t good to be a woman with black skin in the United States even on the best of days, never mind if she helped build a mafia inside the police. She wasn’t scared, she just had nothing to lose, and was living it up until the other shoe dropped. As far as she figured, if there was hell to pay for her actions, fuck, at least she had a good time.

And that’s the way it was, until a bunch of formerly interred Japanese-Americans came back home.

* * *

I woke up pretty well rested, and without a hangover. Maybe I really should cut back on the whole drinking thing. I got up, showered in my tiny standing shower, and got dressed. Angela was the last thing on my mind, and on my lips, from last night. I really wanted to see her again, but I had to at least get a big break on this case. Just telling everyone ‘hey, it’s some assholes over there’ wouldn’t cut the mustard.

Striking up my first smoke of the day, I walked to Orisa’s diner. Just as I was finished smoking, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Sitting at the counter was Angela in another fabulous dress.

She turned, saw me, and her face lit up in a brilliant smile. I felt like floating away.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, walking up to her. “This is a little out of your way.”

“I like the food,” Angela smiled. “And the company is great.”

That got me blushing like a schoolgirl.

“I hope I’m not coming on too strong,” she said, a beautiful blush rising to her cheeks. “I mean, we saw each other only last night.”

“No, it’s fine,” I stammered. “I’m not exactly the ‘slow’ kind of girl.”

“More of the jump right in?” She smiled.

“Jump into the deep end feet first without knowing how to swim,” I laughed. “Not that I don’t know how to swim.”

“What can I get you two birds?” Orisa chuckled, walking up with her notepad.

“Eggs and sausage and a side of toast,” I said.

“Garden skillet, please.”

“Sure thing,” Orisa said, walking to the kitchen.

“I guess I should be the one asking if I didn’t scare you off,” I said. “I went on a tear about this damn city, must’ve made myself look like a fool.”

“It’s fine,” Angela said. “It’s good that we agree that this city is rotten, but even if I didn’t believe it, I liked the passion in your voice.”

Fuck. Come on, get your lesbian brain in gear and make some small talk!

“That’s good,” I croaked. “I’d hate to scare you off.”

“I’d hate that, too,” Angela laughed.

Orisa came back with our food, serving it with a flair. My toast had a pad of butter in the shape of a heart. Orisa grinned at me as I madly mashed the butter, trying to spread it out. It felt like I would burst into flames.

“Good toast?” Angela giggled.

“Oh God, please don’t tell me you saw that…”

“Sorry, Orisa wasn’t very subtle about it.”

“She’s a damn bull in a china shop,” I groaned.

“Do you…?”

“Like you? Yeah, I _really_ do,” I sighed. No point in trying to hide anything when it was just laid out in the open like that. “Of course, I figured you’d know that after you kissed me last night.”

“Not a lot left to the imagination,” she laughed. “Then why get embarrassed?”

“I don’t like having people tell me to do things,” I said, putting some salt and pepper on my eggs. “I got an ear full of it as a kid, and I guess it just kinda simmered and turned into resentment when I grew up.”

“Then why did you try to be a police officer?”

“Actually, I wanted to be a detective,” I said. “Getting ordered about is a pain, but I’d suffer through that if I got to help people. Everything’s gotta have a downside, right?”

“Then what’s the downside of your job right now?” She asked.

“Being out in the cold, so to speak.”

“Not a lot of people like someone who is independent, do they?”

“Depends on the crowd,” I said, chatting as we ate. “Pretty much all of the big players are in someone’s pocket, and if they want something done quietly, they need someone who’s pretty small. You know, people who don’t have much of a reputation, otherwise keeps to themselves? Thing is, just because they need something done quietly doesn’t mean they want it done fair. They want to come out on top, so they stick to a small someone who’s in the same outfit as they are. You know, group mentality and all that?”

“I assume you being in the business also has to do with knowing someone is connected to it beyond a simple paycheck.”

“That’s a bad cliché that no one in my line of work can get away from,” I sighed. “Sometimes the reputation to do anything for money is deserved. Other times, not so much. Where it leaves me is with the small-timers who either aren’t part of the gangs, or people inside the organizations that are on the shit list and don’t have many choices.”

“You mean you worked for someone who was in one of the four syndicates?”

“Yes, but that’s the start and end of it. They had a problem, and I need a job. It’s strictly mercenary.”

“That must mean you have to be very careful about not being seen as working for a faction then, yes?”

“I always have to repeat that myself: I’m not on anyone’s side, I don’t work for someone over someone else, I’m just me. If I take a job with someone who’s mobbed up, it’s not me taking a job for Jack or Ashe or Hanzo or Reyes or anyone, it’s with a person who just so happens to get a paycheck from one of them.”

“And it doesn’t bother you?” Angela asked, worry-lines creasing her forehead as she ate.

“Oh, I hate it so much,” I groaned. “Thing is, working for people who aren’t part of anything doesn’t pay too well. Being independent in this city is like being a bottom feeder, and the bottom feeders gotta feed, right?”

“Do you ever wish you could change it? Make it easier on yourself?”

“A lot of the days, I really do,” I admitted. “But I’d never forgive myself if I went to work with them. They’ve got blood on their hands, and I can’t live with that.”

“But you take their money,” Angela said, “even if it’s from someone low on the totem pole.”

“Money is just money,” I shrugged. “It might be the root of all evil, but it’s just a thing. It’s what you do with the money that puts any actions into it.”

“If you get a paycheck from a low level gang member, didn’t that mean you’re part of it, even tangentially? Do you think that taking their money means you support the gang you say you hate, even in a roundabout way?”

“I’ve thought about that a lot,” I admitted. “I eventually realized that I gotta be reasonable. If you don’t take the money from the gang member, then where do you get your money from? The bank. Problem is, gang members spend their money, and that money finds its way back to the bank.

“Let’s say Bobby McRandom-Guy is, oh I don’t know, running drugs with Hanzo. So Hanzo pays him, and Bobby McRandom-Guy goes to you for something. You turn him down, he goes to someone else, and buys something. That person would probably put that money in the bank, then suddenly, you have Bobby McRandom-Guy’s blood money in your pocket when you make a withdraw. Or maybe you don’t, it’ll be like rolling a die. Where does it end, and can you find some money you know is clean before rent is due?”

“I’ve never thought of it that way,” Angela admitted.

“At one point, you just gotta give up on it and live your life,” I shrugged. “Or make a killing so you don’t have to worry about money, but that’s never gonna happen with me.”

“So you’re saying there’s still a chance for _me_ to make it?” Angela said, mock amazement in her eyes.

“That’s exactly it,” I said, laughing as I drank some coffee.

“Then my dream of running this city is still alive,” she laughed.

“If you ever do run this entire city,” I grinned, “just remember the little woman you met at the bottom who made everything possible.”

“I could never forget you,” she laughed, putting a hand on mine.

“You keep that up, I’m just gonna float away,” I mumbled.

“What if I want you to float away with me?”

Holy shit, I could get lost looking into those blue eyes.

“I…I want to,” I stammered, “but I still got a job to do.”

Angela paused. Then her face crumbled.

“I, I almost forgot,” she mumbled.

“Am I that good at taking your mind off things?” I chuckled.

“I think it’s pretty obvious,” she said. “But…feeling this good, feeling good with you, so soon after Bastion’s death…it just feels like I’m betraying him in some way, ignoring his memory.”

My heart was breaking looking at her dejected face.

“Then how about this,” I said, gently taking her hand. “I like spending time with you. It really gets my minds off things, and I can feel like I can be myself. I like that, I like that feeling a lot.”

Angela broke into a smile at that, either by my words or from me holding her hand.

“And with this case, with the whole fucking city on edge, I think we both need as much time off as we can get,” I continued. “So how about I drop by the hotel tonight, and we can have a date, something to keep our heads about us as the shit is going down?”

“I’d like that,” Angela smiled.

I couldn’t help myself; I broke out into a wide smile.

“Then I can’t fucking wait for tonight,” I grinned.

Angela pushed her empty plate away, and I followed suit.

“Wait, how did you get here?” I asked.

“I asked Zarya for a ride,” she said, “She was polite enough to drop me off.”

“Then I can drive you back.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“No, I have to go downtown to talk with Jack,” I said. “The hotel is on the way.”

“Then I get to see that lovely Raptora again,” she smiled.

I opened the door for Angela. Orisa caught my eye; she was smiling, giving me the thumbs up. I shot her a shit-eating-grin. I had Angela in the bag!

Fortunately, Orisa didn’t look under Angela’s plate where I hid her tip.

* * *

I pulled up to the hotel. Zarya and her guards were at the front door, ever vigilant. I was about to get out to open the door for Angela, but she put a quick hand on my arm.

“It’s okay,” she smiled, “I’ve got it.”

“You sure?” I said, grinning dumbly.

She gave me a quick peck on the lips.

“I’m sure,” she said, opening the door. “Tonight, say eight pm?”

“Sure!” I replied so quickly I nearly cut her off. That made Angela laugh, and blush.

Holy shit, I got it bad…

But with that boost in confidence, I felt ready to take on the world. And since there was always the chance I’d end up meeting my mom, I could use every edge I can get.

I drove to the police station a little too fast, only really slowing down when I was a few blocks out. The station was just as it always was: large, foreboding, and threatening. But with Angela on my mind, I parked and floated in as easy as if I was back on the force.

“Can I help you?” The desk sergeant asked.

“Yes, I’m here to see Jack Morrison.”

“You have an appointment?” The sergeant chuckled.

“No, but I’m the detective he hired. He’ll want to meet me.”

“I bet.”

“Just buzz up to Jack’s office, let him know the junior Amari is here to see him.”

The sergeant buzzed up, and got Jack’s secretary.

“Got a ‘junior Amari’ here to see the chief—“

_“Send her up,”_ the familiar voice of Hana Song said.

“J-just like that?” She sputtered.

_“She’s working for the Chief.”_

“Yes ma’am,” she chorused.

“Don’t worry,” I smiled, “I know the way.”

I walked on passed the front desk, finding the stairwell leading to the top floor. I was feeling so good, I couldn’t just take the elevator, I had to move!

Eventually, I got to the top floor, and walked to Jack’s office. Hana sat at the secretary’s desk outside, looking cute in her uniform.

“Still got you working under Jack?” I asked. “I’d figure you’d have gotten sick of being kept outside the door like a dog.”

“Unlike someone, I can’t torpedo my own career,” Hana grinned, giving as good as she got. “I actually like having decent money coming in on a regular schedule.”

“Alright, you got me there, that _is_ a nice feeling. But I thought you’d still be a beat cop, or make detective.”

“Since you took off, your mom is thinking about grooming me for higher command.”

“Oh joy, she found someone else to corrupt.”

“Again, getting paid is nice. And not pissing other people off is a plus. We can’t all be goddamn independents.”

“That must be terrible,” I grinned.

“You’re actually pleasant to be around today,” Hana said. “Did you fuck?”

“Hello, Hana. Nice to meet you, why yes, the weather _is_ nice, thanks for noticing.”

“All I’m saying is that you’re barely tolerable to begin with,” Hana said, holding her hands up. “And it just seems like there’s a special someone in your life making you happy.”

As much as I wanted to brag about Angela, I didn’t want to jinx it in any way, shape, or form.

“Okay,” I grinned. “I’ll say this: you’re not wrong.”

“But I’m not right?”

“You want to be a detective? Figure it out.”

Hana pouted at that, but let me pass. I walked to the big double door that marked Jack’s office. I pushed the door open and walked in.

Being at the top floor had its perks. Jack’s office had several windows so he could overlook the downtown area. The police station wasn’t the tallest building downtown, but it had the best location. It sat at the end of Main streets, so it could clearly see down the massive boulevard. He could see the tall buildings, the neon signs, and watch cars drive down the street, people walk down the sidewalk.

It was a vantage point of power. Jack had it all, sitting atop this shitty, rotten façade of justice. I could appreciate the allure, but I’d never take this, never in a million years. And part of me hoped that Hana wouldn’t, either.

My mother, on the other hand, had no such morals or qualms. She sat on his big, mahogany desk, talking about something, probably something crooked. Said desk was decorated with plaques of valor and duty, along with the medals that hung from his walls. Being a war veteran, Jack had plenty.

“Morning, mom,” I said. “Jack.”

“Fareeha,” Mom said, her remaining eye narrowing. Both she and Jack were in their police best.

“How’s the investigation going?” Jack asked, leaning back in his chair. As usual, his double-breasted suit was impeccable; the brass buttons positively glowed. He gestured to the seat in front of his desk, and I sat down.

“Not too well,” I admitted. “I’m making progress, but I need to chase down some leads that might be coming from outside the city.”

“What do you mean, ‘outside the city?’”

“Just what it sounds like. I need some info on what kind of pressure we have coming from outside.”

Jack and mom traded quick glances.

“You’ll have to be more specific than that,” mom said.

“I’m following up on a lead that could be big,” I replied. “A very big lead. As in, shakes this city apart better than any of you could.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jack placed a gentle hand on mom’s shoulder.

“Fareeha, I hired you to find this killer,” he said. “I _want_ you to find this killer, and I want to help you find the bastard. But you’ll have to be more specific; people going on things ‘outside the city’ is really vague. You do realize this isn’t the only city in the world, right?”

“And you know that there’s always pressure coming from outside the city,” I lazily replied, pulling out a notepad and pen. “Come on, Jack, I know how the sausage is made. You make reports saying things in this city are going great, and the power-that-be leave you alone in your little corner of the world. You can play king, or a kind of king, and that’s all you want.

“If you still want to play coy, I’ll need to know how the usual suspects are doing. Outside police departments, the state, hell, I’m sure you got some ears kept out for the FBI. They could be making a push for something, spoil your little fiefdom.”

“I don’t know what you mean by ‘playing coy,’” Jack grinned, “but thank you for finally being forthright about your question. No, there’s no pressure coming from outside the city. Nothing out of the ordinary, at least.”

“The feds are always trying to stick their noses in here, but we keep them busy,” mom said.

“Really? Because I’ve heard some things about an outside party or so making a move on this city.”

“That’s bullshit, I haven’t heard anything,” Jack said.

“Someone infiltrated one of the southern docks a few days ago,” I said. “Doctored the manifest going in and out. Coincidentally, this matches with Bastion’s time of death.”

“You think some altered manifests means they’re Bastion’s killers?” Mom asked. “What’s your proof?”

“I have my proof, but I’m still working on all the details,” I said. “Thing is, I’m not willing to lay everything out right now. There are still too many questions that need answers, and I’m trying to hunt ‘em down.”

“This ‘outside play,’” Jack asked, “it’s a threat, right? How credible is it?”

“Hanzo believes something is going down.”

Jack paused.

“Just Hanzo…?”

Looks like he needed a little more convincing.

“It’s got Jesse fuckin’ McCree keeping his gorram mouth shut for once.”

That got a reaction from both Jack _and_ mom.

“Yeah, never thought you’d see the day, huh?” I grinned.

“That’s bullshit,” Mom said.

“That’s the first thing I thought. Thing is, he’s really not talking about it. Something happened in the southern docks, Ashe’s territory, and he was part of it. Only he’s keeping quiet for once.”

“Why’s that?”

“There’s a whole bunch of uncomfortable things going on,” I replied. “And it seems to be coming from outside the city. So, have you heard anything from anyone about a change coming? Maybe a move to be made?”

Jack traded a dark look with my mom. She sighed, but relented.

“The feds are always trying to get more power,” she said. “They’re making a huge play in Washington. J. Edgar Hoover is really trying to get as much power as he can to police the entire United States. When a certain crime is committed, he wants his guys to be all over it, looking for the worst offenders.”

“When you say ‘worst offenders,’ what do you mean?” I asked, jotting down notes.

“Organized crime.”

“At the risk of getting a lecture from mom,” I said, “does ‘questionable practices by local law enforcement’ draw their wrath as well?”

Mom glared at me, but I held my ground.

“They’re called ‘abuses of power,’” Jack sighed.

“Then do ‘abuses of power’ draw their wrath as well?”

“It appears they do,” he said. “Not that I’m admitting to anything.”

“Of course. Innocent until proven guilty, right?” I winked.

“Are you trying to make a point, or just be a pain?” He growled.

“Little from column A, little from column B,” I shrugged. “So how’s the FBI going about consolidating their power? I haven’t heard the best things about Hoover, what’s your take on him?”

“He’s a power hungry madman,” mom said. “I’ve heard he has recordings on everything so he can keep tabs on everyone.”

“He also doesn’t like minorities,” Jack added.

“_Really_ doesn’t like them,” mom nodded.

My stomach dropped, and it felt colder as I played with the puzzle pieces in my head.

“So a typical white guy in power,” I said.

“Pretty much,” Jack laughed.

“Good thing you’re not typical,” mom smiled, running a hard down his arm.

“If you two are gonna flirt, can you do it when I’m not in the room?” I asked politely.

“You give us shit, but you can’t take it yourself?” Mom asked.

“I don’t feel like puking if that’s what you mean.”

“Because Jack’s hitting on your mother?”

“That and it’s _way_ too heterosexual for me.”

“I think we need to stay on track,” Jack said. “The feds have been making a huge push to get as much power as they can here. It’s getting harder and harder for us to keep things under wraps.”

_Like bugs scurrying from the light, _I thought.

“And what’s that like?” I said instead. “Their poking and prodding, I mean.”

“Agents showing up, asking for records, and questioning what they read,” he replied. “Making vague threats about how Hoover won’t like what they’re gonna say, and how there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

“It’s a bunch of hot air,” mom said. “Legally, they don’t have anything. But we’re not sure they want to play by the rules. Hoover loves the law, but only when it suits him.”

Well that’s just fucking great. Not only is there potentially a gang making a push for the city, but this mysterious gang might be the goddamn FBI.

“Ana, I’m telling you, this doesn’t make sense for the feds,” Jack said. “They don’t like us, so what? We face legal pressure, that’s it. We might have to…” Jack’s eyes drifted over to me. “We might have to dot our I’s, cross our T’s, mind our P’s and Q’s a bit more, but that’s it.”

“Nicely stated, Jack,” I said flatly.

“The point I’m trying to make is that if Hoover wanted to get us, he’d come after us,” he said. “He wouldn’t kill Bastion. This city would destroy itself, and he doesn’t want that.”

“Quick question: who locked up the Japanese-Americans when the War rolled around?”

That got me a stern glare from mom.

“Who really doesn’t like minorities?”

Her stern look morphed into a general hard look, like she didn’t want to know what I was getting at, but knew it all the same.

“What kind of population does this town have a lot of? Hint, it’s not white people.”

“You’re joking,” mom said.

“Fareeha, this is a very serious accusation you’re throwing around,” Jack agreed. “This is the kind of shit you can’t take back. It’s probably not the kind of thing you can even say out loud without having your weight in ironclad proof.”

“I know, I got the feeling in my bones it’d be some bad shit,” I said. “The thing is, I can’t discount this either.”

“This is crazy,” Jack grumbled. “Fine, let’s do some brainstorming and think out loud here. Let’s say Hoover is behind all of this. Why the hell would he kill Bastion? This is so far out of his M.O. it’s crazy.”

“It might not be,” mom mumbled.

“What do you mean?”

Mom was getting a twisted, angsty look in her face. I’ve never seen my mom like this before, and it scared the crap outta me. Mom eventually took a deep breath and continued.

“When I was in line for being promoted to my current spot,” she said, “I…I got a few letters.”

“From whom?”

“They were anonymous. I did some searching around, trying to trace it all back, but didn’t get very far. Even the post office didn’t know who sent them, but I got the feeling they were covering for the sender.”

“Post office is federal property,” I said. “No one can really make them do anything, not unless they’re with the government.”

“Fareeha, stop,” Jack snapped. “What were the letters about?”

“They were telling me that a black woman had no place being in a police uniform, never mind we’re Middle Eastern,” she snorted. “It said I was a fraud, and that I knew it. It went on and on about my ‘abnormal moral behavior’ and said I was ‘sexually psychotic.’ And that’s the tip of the racist bullshit.”

“Jesus,” I hissed.

“Those fucking cowards,” Jack spat.

“I thought it was just someone in the town who didn’t like how I was rising through the ranks,” she said. “But they kept coming, and they had details I know no one in this town had.”

I ground my teeth. I really, really didn’t want to ask.

The damn shame was, I was a good detective, and a better private eye.

“What were they?” I hissed through my clenched teeth.

“How I was ‘just like any other sexual perverse Negress,’ raising a child by myself,” she said, her cheeks flushing. I knew it wasn’t with shame, mom was getting pissed. “Saying how I harbored diseases, spread them to my daughter, and how I was fooling a great man such as Jack with vile lies.”

Jack’s fist pounded the table. Jack was many things, but even I couldn’t deny that he loved my mom with all his heart. Hearing this obviously pissed him the fuck off.

“And…sweet God, I can’t believe I’m gonna say this,” I grumbled, “but was that all? Just them calling you names?”

“The letters said that liars such as myself would face a reckoning. How other ‘Negros in usurped positions’ would face the truth, and be struck down by the weight of the lies.” Mom shook her head. “It said I knew what to do, it said I knew the only thing that could save the position of power that I was in.”

“They wanted you to quit?” I said hopefully. “Like, resign?”

“They wanted me to kill myself.”

“Fuck, I was really hoping it wasn’t like that!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jack asked.

“Because we got letters like that all the time,” mom said apologetically. “Letters how a woman of color shouldn’t be in such a position, or with a white man. But these letters, they went above that. Beyond that. But they were still letters from a clearly angry white man, and I wasn’t going to let them slow me down.”

“I’m not saying you did the wrong thing by ignoring them; you did,” Jack said. “But if they were that bad, honey, you have to tell me about them. I could try to do something about it.”

“Jack, dear, I don’t think there was anything you could do,” mom said. “I re-read some of the letters, and thought I made a connection. It said ‘Negros in usurped positions;’ that got me thinking that they were sending similar letters to other African-Americans in power.

“So I sent out some letters. I ended up with some replies from clergy members of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. I heard back from Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. He said he received similar letters, calling him a charlatan, fraud, liar, so forth and so forth, and they called on him to end his life.”

Mom shrugged

“That made me figure this was just some deranged white man with too much free time on his hands. I thought it was all hot air, and put it to rest.”

“Then how do you think it’s Hoover behind the letters?”

“Hoover is a bully. Plain and simple. He has a lot of power, but he thinks throwing things around will get him what he wants. He tried to get Dr. King and me to kill ourselves; clearly, we didn’t. Would it be that much of a stretch to remove Bastion from the picture, to start a battle that would kill hopefully me and several other minority groups? Remember, Talon is the second largest gang in the city, and they’re mostly Hispanic. And we can’t forget the Shimada clan is nearly all Japanese-Americans, and we know how well they were treated.”

“That’s the thing I was thinking about,” I said. “Someone outside the city starts a war, and we kill each other for them.”

“It might also strengthen the FBI,” Jack gasped. “Dear God, Hoover could use this bloodbath as an excuse to extend his powers.”

“Want to know the real bitch?” I said. “I can’t prove anything. Like you said, Jack, I need to have my weight in ironclad proof before I can make such an announcement public. I don’t have that, just a bunch of work drawing connections and following the money.”

“Look at you, following the money,” mom laughed. “I taught you well.”

“That was never in question,” I smiled.

“Then we can’t think this through anymore,” Jack said. “We have to drop the Hoover angle before we go making baseless accusations. Yes, he’ll profit from this, and there’s a lot to be said about following the money, but there’s no proof that could tie him to this. There has to be an easier solution than a grand conspiracy of a government out to get us.”

“Oh Jesus fucking Christ,” I groaned, dropping my head in my hands. “I’m turning into goddamn Sombra!”

“Paranoia doesn’t suit you, dear,” mom laughed.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe I just came in here and asked for you two to believe in some half-baked conspiracy theory,” I gasped. “Not even half-baked, this is like warm mush! I’m taking a wild goose chase and making the facts fit the fiction.”

“Fareeha, I know you want to find Bastion’s killer just as badly as everyone does, but you’re working too hard on this,” mom said. “You need to take some time off, get a breather before you start spouting more conspiracy theories.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, kid,” Jack said. “I don’t think you’re wrong, but I’m sure you’re not right. There might be something from outside the city making a push at us, and it might be Hoover himself, but there’s no proof. You’re making up facts base on conjectures and what sounds good. Your mother’s right, you need to take a breather and come at this with fresh eyes.”

“Do you need something to help you relax? I can recommend a few good spas,” mom said.

“Actually, I got something lined up tonight,” I said.

“Going through a bottle of whiskey doesn’t count.”

“Mom!”

“It doesn’t,” she snapped.

“It’s not a bottle! It’s something else.”

“Good,” she said. “Then relax, come at this with fresh eyes. Or else you’ll really turn into Sombra.”

“Trust me, mom, just mentioning that I’ll be like Sombra is enough to get me to relax.”

Now I had double the reason to go on that date with Angela.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fareeha needs a break to clear her mind of all the conspiracy theories that have been invading it.  
And as luck would have it, she has a date with an angel.

Meeting with Jack and Mom took an hour or so, but I needed to seriously take a break and get my head screwed on somewhat right. God, couldn’t fucking believe I thought it was a good idea to talk about a fucking conspiracy theory with them. Hopefully they won’t think I lost it when I gave my final report. I was quite possibly the last independent in this city that anyone would trust; if Jack and mom started poking holes in any theory I had, we could finally get this long overdue mob war started.

So I went back to my shitty little apartment, and got to killing a few hours. Since it felt so nice to get some real sleep and not just pass out, I decided on a nap. I woke up a few hours later; maybe I was on to something with the whole sober thing. Fortunately, I had just enough time to get ready for my big date.

I showered, and got a fresh set of clothes. I wanted to impress Angela, so I pulled out my fitted vest, which really made me feel fancy. I made sure my hair was good with no knots in it, I brushed my teeth, flossed, spat out the blood caused by a lack of flossing, and drove to the hotel.

Zarya and her men were there. I pulled up, and Zarya opened the door for me.

“Pretty fancy service for a lowly PI,” I said.

“Angela asked for us to take care of you,” Zarya said. “So complimentary valet services.”

“You just want to drive my car, don’t you?”

“I have to admit, it’s a nice car,” she grinned.

“Well, if Angela did put you up to this, I’ll have to thank her.”

“And if she didn’t?”

“Then you’d better give me my car back.”

Zarya laughed, but I let her take my Raptora. One of her men patted me down, and let me in. I walked to the bar, where I saw a blonde angel waiting for me.

Angela was wearing a fabulous blue dress, it was just like the one she first wore when I met her. Of course, it couldn’t be the same dress; that dress was bloodstained. This dress rode the curves of her gams, showing off her stuff as she sat at a high table. Oh God, I got it bad…

“Ah, there you are,” Angela smiled. “Right on time.”

“Good to know I still got it in me,” I smiled back, taking a seat next to her.

“Good to know that you look so dashing in a vest,” she beamed. “Pinstripes make you look distinguished, and that tie is fantastic.”

“Thank you,” I beamed. Damn, felt like I was gonna fly away.

A waiter gave us menus, making me remember how expensive this place was, and how poor I am.

“No need to worry about prices,” Angela smiled.

“Can you read my mind?”

“There’s no need to. I know this place is expensive, but Torbjörn said he’d treat me every so often to a good meal.”

“Is this for all the good work you do?”

“Someone has to patch up the injured.”

“Then if this is on Torb’s dime, I might live a little,” I smiled. “I’ll have the prime steak with potatoes and asparagus.”

“I’ll have the pan-fried red snapper fillet. And a bottle of wine, please.”

The waiter nodded and went to put our orders in.

“Gotta say, I’m surprised Torb decided to foot the bill on such a night.”

“Well, he didn’t say I wasn’t allowed to bring someone to dinner,” Angela smiled.

“Hey, it’s better to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission,” I laughed.

“Exactly it!”

The waiter came back with a bottle of chilled white wine. I slyly looked at the date as he opened it; the bottle was ten years old. Now I’m _really _glad I didn’t look at any prices.

“Not bad,” I said, taking a sip.

“Not much of a wine snob?” Angela smiled, taking her own drink.

“I’m more of a ‘bottle of cheap brown liquid masquerading as whiskey’ kind of girl,” I grinned. “I’m afraid stuff like this is pearls before swine.”

“I’m glad,” Angela laughed. “Because I don’t know the first thing about wine!”

“Not a single thing?” I laughed.

“I know what I like, and what tastes good to me, but that’s about it,” she giggled. “All this expensive wine seems like a ploy to fleece the rich. It’s just fermented grapes!”

“But they’re _fancy_ fermented grapes,” I pointed out.

“Yes, and I guess that gives it some value.”

A piano struck up from the corner. One of the men Torb hired to play was earning his paycheck.

“I’ve realized something,” I said.

“What’s that?”

“We’ve talked a lot about me, but not a whole lot about you. I’d like to get to know you better.”

Angela’s cheeks flushed as she played with her wine glass.

“I, I don’t think there’s too much to me,” she said. “I just wanted to be a doctor.”

“But how the hell did you end up in this city, playing doctor to rival syndicates?”

“It’s not too much of a story,” she laughed. “If you couldn’t tell by my accent, I’m from Europe.”

“You do sound a little German.”

“I speak German, but I’m actually Swiss,” she said.

“Glad you told me the difference, because the only thing I know is to not call a Swiss a Kraut.”

Angela laughed at that. Score, I’m knockin’ it out of the park!

“Well, when tensions began rising in the late twenties, my parents knew there’d be another war,” she said. “And they didn’t want to be caught in the middle of it. Yes, Switzerland stayed neutral, but they figured there would be concessions that would be necessary to continue to live in Switzerland. So my parents moved, and were able to immigrate to the United States before the War.”

“How can you say there’s not much to you when you’ve lived through that?” I asked.

“It’s not like I lived through the War or anything, we just ran at the right time.”

“That’s still damn amazing. I couldn’t imagine moving to a new country. What’s the biggest change you’ve had to get used to?”

The waiter came back with our food, and it smelled great. I picked up my silverware, hoping I was holding the fork right, and cut into the tasty piece of beef. The steak was grilled to perfection, practically exploding with flavor.

“Is the steak good?” Angela asked.

“Pretty good,” I said. Then I leaned in. “But between you and me, I’d still get it from Orisa. Tastes just as good, and it wouldn’t cost an arm and a leg.”

“That’s because she’d let you eat for free,” Angela giggled.

“And the tip I’d leave her would _just so happen _to be the exact cost of a steak.”

“I didn’t know it was possible for someone to be terrible while being amazing,” Angela laughed.

“Tell me about it! It’s been a while since Orisa took me outside to lecture me on how I don’t have to pay.”

“Then you’re making progress.”

“No, I just think she gave up. Still kind of a win for me. How’s the snapper?”

“Excellent,” Angela smiled. “I should take up Torbjörn’s offer to eat here more.”

“Let me know if you need some help taking advantage of his hospitality,” I laughed.

“Oh, I will!”

“Great! Now, back to you.”

“I thought I deflected that line of questioning.”

“Former detective turned private investigator, remember?”

“I almost forgot,” she said. “Where did I leave off? Right, my parents moved to America a few years before the War.”

“What was that like, knowing Europe was tearing itself apart?”

“Terrible,” she sighed. “But…no, I can’t say that.”

“Say what?”

“You’ll…think less of me.”

“I don’t think so, it’ll take a lot to get me to think less of you.”

Angela blushed at that.

“Well, I…part of me was glad there was a war,” she said. “All of the terrible things Hitler was saying, and many people were trying to ignore it. ‘Oh, he’s just spouting hot air,’ ‘he doesn’t mean what he says,’ ‘he’s doing good about dragging Germany out of the depression, the anti-Semitism is just a front,’ terrible things like that.

“I knew Hitler was no good, my parents knew it, everyone in our village knew it, but it seemed that there were always just a few more people who didn’t think so. If ten people thought Hitler was terrible, there would be maybe eleven or twelve people somewhere who thought it was a load of nonsense. Granted, this was in Switzerland, but I couldn’t stand hearing them justify their passivity.

“Hitler was a terrible man who needed to be stopped. I was growing sick and damn tired of people making excuses, burying their heads in sand, or just ignoring the terrible things he said. As ashamed as I am of saying it, a not-so-small part of me is glad there was a war. It was the exact thing needed to stop that madman.”

“You’re not one for taking things on the chin, are you?”

“Nothing like that, I just hate madness,” she said. “I hate how some people just accept the way things are, and don’t have the fucking balls to change it for the better!”

Suddenly, Angela was blushing.

“I, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to curse.”

“No, it’s okay, I like hearing you curse, it’s elegant and brutal in the best way,” I smiled. “And I totally get you. Everyone says ‘this is the way it is, no point in changing it,’ and that drives me crazy, too. Hell, that’s the reason I left the cops. I hated the abundant corruption in the cops, and I hated being told to just ‘let it go,’ that it was how things worked.”

“Exactly,” Angela said. “Ooh, the worst is when they say ‘there’s a natural order to the world, and those who try to upend it do not fare well.’ They just want you to ignore how broken things are, to just let a terrible system perpetuate itself because it minutely betters them!”

“It’s fucking bullshit.”

“_Total _bullshit.”

Hearing Angela curse like that, and seeing her get so worked up about it, God, it was just amazing. Hearing the passion in her voice was something, just…something special. The energy, the way she talked, how driven she was, it was amazing.

God, I got it bad.

“Then why come here, to this city? We got a terrible system in place, why not go somewhere else?”

“First, because I was given a good job offer,” Angela said. “Remember, I’m a doctor. I wanted to be the person everyone goes to for advice, for guidance, because I was the best. And at the risk of sounding vain, I _am _the best; I graduated summa cum laude, top of my class.

“But once I finished my schooling, I realized there were few places for a woman to practice medicine.” Angela grumbled at that. “I got an offer here to work at a hospital here, but then everyone started second guessing me, just because I’m a woman! Patients, doctors, even the political ‘leaders’ in this city. Then I got a better offer from Bastion. So I started working with him. But seeing things here…Oh, I just had to do something about it!”

“What exactly would you do?” I smiled.

Angela was about to speak, but stopped. Just as quickly as the moment came, it passed.

“I…I don’t know.”

“That’s not the feeling I’m getting,” I grinned. “You got a plan lined up, don’t you?”

“Is this the private eye I’m talking to, or just Fareeha?” She asked, a tight grin on her plump, red lips.

“Both,” I said, my stupid fucking grin still plastered across my face. “I’m getting to know you, and you don’t take things on the chin. And then there’s the time you said you did plan on doing something, back in Orisa’s diner. So I got the feeling that you have an idea.”

Angela tried to glare at me, but a tiny grin poked out of the corner of her lips.

“I thought I did,” she said. “But that was…it was before…well, you know.”

Shit.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin the moment.”

“No, you’re fine,” Angela said, gently taking my hand. “I didn’t want to bring it up because of that.”

I couldn’t help but smile.

“Dessert?”

“If I’m not paying, I can’t see why not,” I grinned.

Angela demurely raised her hand, and a waiter came over.

“We’ll have some of the chocolate gelato,” she said. “And a sweet drink. Or do you want something with a bit more bite, Fareeha?”

“I remember hearing you have some amazing apple brandy.”

“Then the gelato and apple brandy.”

“Coming right up,” the waiter said, going to put our order in.

“Damn, this is just amazing,” I sighed. “I feel so fancy sitting here.”

“Good food, good drinks, good company…” I realize that Angela still held my hand. I did nothing to get her to let go. “This is a great day.”

“One that I desperately needed,” I said. “This case is gonna make me lose my mind.”

“How so?”

The waiter came back with our order. I sipped the apple brandy; it was just as excellent as I heard. Sweet, but still had a nice burn to it. And the gelato…God, it was so smooth, creamy, and rich. But it wasn’t overpowering, there was still the delicious bitter chocolate taste to counterbalance any richness the gelato had.

Sadly, Angela had to let go of my hand as we ate.

“I, kinda got swept up into one of Sombra’s conspiracy theories.”

“Oh no!”

“Just a bit. But I did kinda tell my mom about it…”

“What theory is it this time? How vaccines are a ploy by the government to control our minds, or how doctors want to seal our ‘precious bodily fluid?’”

“You’ve probably heard a lot of her rants,” I chuckled.

“I try to check on her, make sure she’s up on her shots, but without fail, she ends up yelling at me about how lizard people are trying to overthrow the world or some nonsense like that,” she huffed. “And I’m involved in it, of course. Goddamn ignorant conspiracy theories. Next thing you’d know, she’d say that vaccines cause autism or something equally absurd!”

I tried not to laugh, but failed pretty badly.

“Well, she thinks there’s some conspiracy to take over the city,” I said. “They kill Bastion to get everyone to kill each other, and roll in unimpeded.”

“That’s madness.”

“The terrible thing is, it made some kind of sense,” I said. “I was always told the best conspiracy theories had a kernel of truth to them, and damn, did this thing take me for a ride.”

“Then who do you think killed Bastion?”

“Still don’t know,” I admitted. “Which is why I got swept up into her paranoid mindset. There are a few things that point to outside parties, but I can’t start thinking that way.”

“Then I’m glad I could distract you from your work,” Angela beamed.

“Oh, you’re doing _more_ than just distracting me.”

That got her to blush, but she couldn’t help but smile.

“It’s getting late,” she said. I picked up a some nervous tension in her voice, but also some apprehension. “Would you mind walking me to my room?”

“I’d love to!”

I couldn’t get out of my seat fast enough. I offered Angela my arm, and she gently took it. God, my heart was hammering in my chest. Angela was just so lovely, so beautiful, and she wanted me to walk her to her room? Okay, play it calm, keep cool, maybe something will happen, maybe it won’t, just don’t go losing control of yourself you useless fucking lesbian…

We walked to the elevators, but thankfully didn’t have to wait long for one. The bronze doors pulled open, and an elevator man welcomed us in. Just walk her to her door, if she doesn’t do anything, just go home and finger bang yourself, you’ve done this before.

“Seventh floor, please,” Angela said.

God, I hope I’m not blushing too hard. Can Angela feel my heart through her arm? She’s a doctor, she can take a pulse like this, couldn’t she? No, stop being stupid, just calm down…

We got to her floor, and we thanked the elevator man. I walked her down the hallway, the plush carpet muffling our footsteps.

“Well, here I am,” she said. Angela sounded just as nervous as I felt. She took out a key, opening the door.

“Did you have a good night?” I asked, doing my best to keep my voice steady.

“No, I had an amazing night,” she smiled. “Thank you so much.”

Her lips were so full, so inviting. We kissed before, so I stepped in, gently placing my hand at her waist, and gently pulled her towards me, hoping I wasn’t misreading things…

But Angela was waiting for me, breathing deeply as our lips drew closer and closer and closer until we finally kissed. God, it felt so good to kiss those lips, they were so full, so sweet, God!

I stood there, gently pulling Angela into me as we kissed. And she folded into me, pulling herself closer, pulling her body into mine. That just got me to pull her closer, tighter, and kiss her more. This was the happy ending I needed. We could go our separate ways after this, she could leave me twelve different kinds of hot and bothered, and I’d _still_ feel like I won the lottery!

But it didn’t stop there. Angela pushed the door to her room open, and gently pulled me in by my tie. Oh God, this was happening, this was finally happening!

I followed her like an obedient puppy, kissing her all the while. But now that I knew she wanted this as much as I did, I was more aggressive. Both of my hands were pulling her waist into mine, pressing us together. I could feel her breasts mash against mine, I could feel her heartbeat racing, just like mine was!

Somehow I was able to kick the door closed as Angela led me through the room, stumbling about. I was so hot, it felt like I was burning up. And with Angela pressed so close to me, it felt like she was burning up, too! We bumped into walls, and I couldn’t help but chuckle, all while trying not to break our kiss.

She kicked another door open, and this led us to her bed. We both kind of flopped down on it, holding onto each other, just focused on kissing. I moved my hands, placing one hand at the back of her head while my other hand was pulling her into me, God, I loved the feeling of our breasts mashing together, and we were still clothed!

I don’t know how long we lay there kissing, but I just rode this out. Eventually, I couldn’t ignore my own aching needs, and gently reached down to slowly unzip her dress.

“F-Fareeha,” she gasped.

“What?” I asked, breaking our mad kissing. “I’m not going too fast, am I? I’m not pushing you?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” she said, shaking her head. Angela’s face burned bright red. “I…I want this, I do! But…I’ve…”

“You’ve never been with a woman before?”

“I’ve only been with a couple men,” she nodded, blushing furiously.

Oh my God, I was gonna be her first?!

“I can go slow,” I said with as much self-control as I could muster.

“Please…”

“Then sit up. We need to get you out of that dress.”

She did, and I reached behind her, pulling the zipper down the rest of the way. As I did, I planted a few kisses along her neck, gently biting her to leave my little mark. She yelped and jumped, but her arms wrapped around me, urging me on.

With the zipper undone, and let the dress spill down off her shoulders, letting it pool at her waist. I gently reached for her bra, and undid the clasp. I sat back; Angela was holding her bra to her.

“I can stop anytime you want,” I said.

“I told you, I want this.” Then she let go of her bra, let it spill off her. “I want you.”

Oh fuck me. Her breasts were just as amazing as I’d fantasized about. They were large, supple, her nipples pert and erect. I gently fondled them, and lowered myself to them. Angela cried out as I first licked them, then kissed them, then sucked at them.

“F-Fareeha! Aah!”

Oh, I was in heaven. Her breasts were just perfect. My tongue danced across them as I sucked, but I wasn’t going to leave her feeling lopsided. I went from sucking at one nipple to going to the other, making sure I was going nice and slow so I’d give her a good first gay time. Angela was breathing hard, panting, holding me in as I lavished her chest with love.

Then I slowly moved a hand down, pulling her dress off. That got Angela to yelp.

“Wait!”

I stopped.

“Can…I mean,” she blushed, “can I see you?”

Holy shit, I straight up forgot I was still in my clothes.

“I-I’m sorry, I just…”

“You’re fine, but I want to see you like you see me.”

I sat up, pulling at the buttons on my vest. Angela stopped me.

“Let me,” she said.

Nodding, I sat up straighter. Seeing Angela naked from the waist up, God, I was getting so wet. But having her undo the buttons to my vest, then my shirt, then pulling my tie off…God, I got even wetter, breathing even deeper.

She pulled my clothes off, leaving me in my pants and a bra. She reached behind, and undid the clasp. I let the bra fall off me.

“You’re so beautiful,” she said, running a hand over my chest. That got me to gasp and stiffen as she gently ran a finger over a nipple. “Is this how you did it, yes?”

She leaned in, and gave my left breast a little kiss. She started at my heart, and left a few trail of kisses down to my nipple.

“Aaah! Yes, like that!”

Angela kept kissing me, and I damn near melted on the spot. She was kissing my nipple, then gave it a little nibble. That damn nearly undid me.

“Is that good?” She asked, looking up.

I couldn’t help myself. I pulled her up and kissed her like I was about to go to the electric chair. I hungrily sucked at her tongue, relishing the feeling of our naked breasts pressing against each other. Oh God, this was amazing!

I was moving like a gay woman possessed. I gently, but firmly, pushed her down onto the bed, and got out of my pants. Then I pulled her dress down, and finally her panties. A little tuff of golden blond hair greeted me, and the sight of her wet sex. I practically dove face first into her.

“Let me do all the work,” I gasped.

I was begging, but didn’t wait for an answer. I licked her lips, relishing the taste of her. Angela squealed, but it was a good squeal. My hand was at her hips, and she took it, squeezing it as I went down on her.

It had been a while for me, but eating pussy was like riding a bike; you never forgot how to.I gently licked at her, teasing her lips, drawing a reaction from her each time I moved. I made sure to pay especial attention to her little clit, drawing larger and larger reactions from her, at first licking it, but then gently sucking at it.

Angela was moaning and screaming, clamping down on my hand and grabbing my hair with her free hand.

“Fareeha! Oh God, y-you’re so good!” She babbled.

I couldn’t help but chuckle. I was knocking it out of the park.

She really screamed as I gently pressed my tongue into her. She came fast and suddenly, and I let her ride it out, licking up after myself.

“Do you like this?” I grinned, looking up at her.

“So…much…”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please…”

That was something I couldn’t ignore. So I went back to eating her out, all while tracing my own aching sex with my deft fingers. This night was going to be about Angela, but that didn’t mean I was having a bad time.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A date with Angela was just what Fareeha needed. Sadly, reality has to be faced, and Bastion's killer has to be found.  
With barely any leads left to her, the intrepid detective talks to Talon and the Reaper.

Light woke me up. The sun was shining bright, bouncing off gold. I blinked to clear my eyes. The sun was shining in through the window, which would explain why I was awake. The gold that was blinding me was the light bouncing off of Angela’s hair.

Waking up, I realize Angela was still sleeping, and I was holding her close. Last night… it just didn’t seem real. Angela was beautiful, amazing, smart, funny, so utterly charming, and I got to be her first. Me!

God, I was grinning. I could still hear Angela’s labored breathing, her sharp inhales, her gentle gasps for more, and her screaming my name as I gave her more. I don’t remember being in such a giving mood. Even when I was with Lena, as ill-fated as that was, I’d usually ask her to do a few things to me.

But with Angela, I just wanted to make sure she had as an amazing time as I could give her. Damn, I could still taste her on my lips…

I snuggled closer to her, relishing the feeling of holding her close to me. I inhaled deeply, smelling her. It was lovely, just as she was.

Something squirmed in my arms. I came to, suddenly realizing I had fallen back asleep and was being woken up. Angela was yawning, twisting about in bed, and in my arms.

“Morning, sleepy head,” I smiled.

Angela turned her head, eyes still half-lidded with sleep. But looking at me, a large, beautiful smile broke out across her full lips.

“Hey,” she mumbled.

“Hey yourself.”

I leaned in to get a kiss.

“Did you sleep well?”

“I don’t think I’ve slept that well in years.”

“Mmm…then it was a good night.”

“I told you, it wasn’t just a good night, it was an amazing night,” Angela gushed. She rolled over to bury her head in my shoulder. “Fareeha, I…I never knew sex could be so intense.”

“You never had a man attend to you?”

“Never,” she said. “Sometimes, when I was feeling…well, turned on enough, I’d beg for him to go down on me, but most men hated it. I’ve never had someone so willingly go down on me, without me even asking!”

“You’re just saying that because I’m a woman,” I said, grinning so hard I was giving my face a cramp.

“I wouldn’t know, you’re the first woman I’ve been with.”

“Think you’ll be doing this again, or is it just an experiment?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” she laughed, sitting up. I stared at her openly. “This _was_ an experiment, but it ended so well!”

“Glad I could convince you this was a good idea,” I smiled, sitting up to kiss her again.

That was when my stomach growled.

“God, I never want this to end.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Angela said. She reached over to the nightstand, where the phone was. She rummaged around, and pulled out a menu. “We can order in.”

“You’re spoiling me.”

“I’m not spoiling you, I’m using you as an excuse to finally try out the room service.”

“Let me guess: Torb gives you a deal.”

“I do my doctor thing, and my room and board is taken care of. Mostly because patients end up being repeat customers.”

“Would you do your doctor thing even if Torb wasn’t putting you up?”

“Of course. I do try to live by the Hippocratic Oath. But being a doctor means saving lives. And since I save lives here, in the hotel, that just gives Torb more power to talk to the crime syndicates. At least, enough power to be treated as sacred ground.”

“That makes sense,” I said, taking the menu.

Angela picked up the phone, and placed our orders. But once the phone was down, I was pulling her back to bed, kissing her madly. She laughed, slapping at my wandering hands.

“God, I can’t believe this happened,” I said, grinning like a loon.

“You didn’t think you’d get with me?”

“When I first saw you, I wasn’t too sure if you were into women or not. I mean, you seemed to be flirting with me, but I didn’t know if you were just being friendly, or a tease.”

“Maybe I can still do some teasing,” she giggled.

“Yes please!”

There was a polite knock at the door, making me dive for the covers. Angela gently covered herself.

“Would you mind if I bring them in?”

“S-sure, I guess.”

“Don’t worry, they’re professionals,” she smiled. “Come in.”

Angela had to raise her voice, but the delivery boy heard her. The door was unlocked, and a woman in a sharp suit walked in. Looks like we had a delivery _girl_.

“In here,” Angela said.

The delivery girl wheeled in a cart with our ordered food. She smiled at us.

“Good morning, madam,” she said cheerfully. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Oh no, you’re quite professional,” Angela said. “I’m sorry if we’re too informal.”

“For most patrons, you would be,” the girl said, “but you’re not ‘most patrons,’ Dr. Ziegler. You’re fine.”

“Oh, thank you,” she beamed.

The delivery girl bussed some trays to the nightstands, filling the room with a delicious aroma.

“Is there anything else?” She asked.

“I didn’t order a bottle of champagne.”

“That’s on the house, miss,” she smiled.

“Then please give my compliments to the house,” Angela smiled back.

“Of course,” the delivery girl nodded. She bussed out the cart, but I caught her giving me an envious look before leaving. I shot her back a shit-eating-grin.

Breakfast was a lovely omelet with crispy bacon to the side, and a small but amazing looking parfait.

“Pretty fancy,” I said as I tucked in, punching up a pillow to lean back on.

“I should do this more often,” Angela smiled.

“You mean bring in a private eye?” I grinned.

“I was going for the room service,” she said, blushing and trying to hide a grin, “but yes, calling in a private eye to help me out ended up being a lovely idea.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me of help,” I groaned. “I don’t want to go out and face the world.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, the case?”

“Oh God, I didn’t mean to bring it up,” Angela gasped, covering her mouth in the most picturesque manner.

“I guess I had to come back down to the real world sooner or later,” I grumbled. “God, it just felt so good to have this date with you. And getting to see you open up, it was all special.”

“Can’t forget the sex,” she smiled.

“Right, opening up. That’s what I said.”

“You’re too much,” Angela laughed.

“Have to keep my allure alive somehow,” I chuckled.

“You’re doing a great job,” Angela said, gently taking my hand.

“That makes me feel better,” I said, leaning in for a kiss. I could taste the parfait on Angela’s lips. “Now I really want to just stay here forever.”

“You must not really be looking forward to continuing this investigation.”

“It’s like I’m always playing catch up,” I said. “This hit was obviously planned out to perfection. Normally, on cases like this, you’d put pressure on certain parts. Got a few witnesses who seem they know too much, but seem perfectly shielded? Put them in lock up and grill them on the details, see if they slip up. Got a suspect who’s not playing ball? See if the district attorney will be going for the max punishment, sweat the guy on his fate.

“But this? There’s nothing to put pressure on. I haven’t got a solid lead, I haven’t found anyone connected to the killing, shit, they killers didn’t even use their own gun. They stole one from Bastion, and it was supposed to be a token of gratitude from a war buddy.”

“I’m sorry I came to you with…with this terrible case,” Angela said.

“Don’t be. As much as I’m bitching about it, coming to me was probably the best thing you could’ve done. Even though I’m not nearly as loved as Bastion was, I’m still the last independent in the city. If anyone else came out with a suspect in custody, not every syndicate might agree with it. Boom, we’ve got a war.”

“It’s quite the razor’s edge the city is walking,” Angela said.

“Tell me about it.”

“And there isn’t even a claw mark you can track down?”

“I’ve checked pretty much everything I could think of.”

“I wish I could be more help,” Angela sighed.

“Wait.”

“Yes?”

“That just might be it,” I grinned.

“What might be it?”

“I think you gave me a good lead. The killers might’ve come from out of the city, but they must also have left a mark with someone. And if Talon is known for one thing, it’s their taste for blood.”

“You think Talon might be involved in Bastion’s death?”

“I don’t think so, but they’re a pack of killers. They’re not loud like Deadlock, but they’re not as honor-bound as the Shimadas are. They got their own code of ethics, sure, but it’s a twisted code. They’ve got to know something about the killing.”

I finished my breakfast, and climbed out of bed. I jumped as a hand slapped my naked ass; spinning around, I saw Angela leaning over the bed, caught red-handed.

“I had to,” she smiled.

“Now _you’re_ too much!” I laughed, running off to the bathroom to wash the smell of sex off me. I didn’t mind the smell, but I had to be presentable to the Reaper and the Widow.

* * *

Talon was the first crime syndicate in the city. They were also the biggest, and they were the most feared.

Gabriel Reyes was an ambitious man. If rumors were true, he used to be great and honorable. But this city was rotting even before a single syndicate was born. If it was only a little less terrible, maybe we could’ve been spared this whole shit show.

Most of what is said about Gabriel’s life before he made Talon is kind of hard to nail down. He’s kind of a folk hero in the south-east side of the city, the cradle of Talon. Then again, the end result is always the same: no matter what he tried to do, he was too Mexican to succeed.

Some people say he tried to be a cop. Others say he just wanted to open his own chain of stores. I even heard one where Gabriel was just a devoted father with a small but loving family, but was too Mexican to catch a break.

You can sense a running theme here.

As much as I want to ask Gabriel what his real history is, I know better. Some poor bastard named Tony asked him once, and Gabriel threw Tony off out of a four story window. Poor Tony fell through a greenhouse, the plate-glass kind. Since then, Tony’s developed a bit of a speech impediment. And since he landed on a bunch of rocks, they started calling him Tony ‘Rocky Horror.’ I’d call them assholes for the last part, but even I chuckle at it every so often.

But the past doesn’t matter so much as how it led to the future. See, when the War started, the US government got their racist bee in its bonnet and decided to not send the Mexicans to fight. Something about ‘preserving the dignity of some racist foundation,’ I don’t know. It’s the same reason they never let the African-American troops to liberate a city.

So they left the Mexicans at home, and plenty of people had had enough of their second-class citizen treatment. Can’t blame them for wanting something better.

Gabriel gave them something better.

The few cops left back home could keep the peace, but not from a crime syndicate. Gabriel started small, making gambling dens, working out drug trafficking routes, then he turned to smuggling, Gabriel did it all.

He called his empire of crime Talon, because they held everything in their hands. But even back then, people wanted a piece of the pie that he made for himself. Competing gambling dens, drug dealers who tried to undercut him by cutting their drugs, some small-time smugglers looking to make it big, Gabriel had competition on Day One.

Gabriel knew what he had to do to stay in power. He executed those who stood in his way, or were trying to undercut him. He couldn’t be everywhere at once, so he trained some guys, turned them into his soldiers. And they taught more people, and so forth and so forth, until Talon was filled with a squad of very dangerous killers. Every hit was calculated and precise, not like Deadlock and Ashe’s wild whirlwinds of lead. Hell, back then, Gabriel had Jesse fuckin’ McCree, his then-golden boy. And Jesse can put some assholes in the ground.

In the beginning, Gabriel did it all because there was no one else. He was easily the richest man in the city.

But then the War ended. Then the soldiers came home, and plenty of them didn’t like how a Mexican crime ring was practically running the city. They joined the cops, and eventually Jack took over the cops. He tried to take everything away from Reyes, and Reyes struck back. I mentioned it before, but the war from that one was massive, with plenty of innocent civilians getting caught in the crossfire. Even with only two syndicates, the gutters nearly overflowed with blood. It was only put out because Jack told Gabriel how long he’d be going to a federal jail if they got caught, and keeping up the war would get them caught.

So Gabriel backed off, leaving plenty of his protection racket in the dust. Then the Shimadas came, and Gabriel had to cede even more. The only reason Reyes liked Deadlock is because they fought the Shimadas; but then Ashe stole Jesse.

Talon might no longer be the biggest gang in the city, but they’re the most professional group of killers. Murder is now their number one game, and losing control of the city has only given them more of an intensive to hold onto whatever ill-gotten gains they have.

Hardly any hit goes on in the city without Talon knowing about it. Bastion might not have been killed by anyone in the city, but it was worth seeing if Talon had heard of something coming from outside the city.

This way, maybe they can get rid of this paranoia that Sombra gave me.

* * *

Dressed and really fighting the urge to stay with Angela, I made my way down to the lobby, where Zarya stood with her guards.

“Have a good night?” She asked, a small smile on her face.

“I did,” I boasted, chest all puffed out.

Zarya laughed, then nodded at one of her men. He walked outside and pulled up my Raptora. It was the most beautiful non-living thing I was seeing this morning.

I gunned the engine, and made my way to Talon’s side of town.

Since Talon was the first to fight the police, they have a special hatred of any cop who comes knocking. On duty, off duty, retired, it didn’t matter to Talon. I just hoped I was enough of an ex-cop to earn a reprieve from them.

As I made my way in, I saw people on the street pointing at my Raptora every so often. They were lookouts. I swallowed, and really hoped they didn’t see me as a cop. I drove on, going for the industrial side of the neighborhood.

Eventually, I got to Reyes’ base of operations, a well-built warehouse. There were tall chain link fences topped with razor wire running along the outside perimeter. Dozens of cars sat at handful of entrances, manned with even more men. They were dressed in fancy jackets, too long and too heavy for the warm weather. They used those kinds of jackets because it hid whatever guns they had. As I drove up, I realized I could have nearly a dozen Tommy guns pointed at me, and I’d never know it.

Swallowing, I drove on, coming to a stop when one man in front of a boom gate waved me down.

“What you here for?” The man asked as I spun the window down.

“I’m here to see Reyes,” I said, trying to keep my voice even.

“Who are you?”

“The private eye he hired. I have some questions.”

He walked over to the guard house, leaning into the window, talking to someone. I saw a telephone being picked up, so I leaned back and got as comfortable as I could. With my pounding heart, it wasn’t much.

“Go in,” the man said. “Boss will speak with you. Do I have to tell you what we do about any funny business?”

“No, I got a real good idea of what happens with jokers around here.”

“Way to read the room.”

I drove in, parking in a rough lot. I walked in, but there were some people waiting for me. I didn’t even have to open the door to the warehouse, someone opened it for me.

So I walked into the warehouse, passing a few guards. They gave me hard looks, but word of my arrival was clearly given; they let me in with no hassle.

“Well, well, well,” a lilting Irish brogue caressed my ear, “look who finally dropped by.”

I had taken two steps into the warehouse’s office and I was already set upon by Moira. It was like she just faded into reality. She was dressed in an old lab outfit, no doubt a habit from when she was a doctor. It seemed she still resented the loss of her medical license. Ironically, that’s what got her picked up by Talon. With all their hits, their men needed a doctor, one who not only didn’t ask any questions, but one who could also ‘ask’ some questions without any pesky ‘morals’ coming into play. I idly wondered if she was still pissed at losing some business when Angela came into town.

“Good morning, Moira. You get a haircut recently?”

“You noticed,” she smiled, showing off her short red hair. Normally she kept it past her ears, but now she had it cut long at the top but short against her head.

“Kind of hard not to, you really lopped it off. Trying out a man’s style? Broadening your horizons?”

“We all need to try something new, darling,” she smiled, her heterochromatic eyes sparkling with mischief. I idly wondered if she was born with heterochomia, or if she gave it to herself as part of some vain experiment. There were plenty of rumors on how she lost her license, maybe the eye thing was what did it.

“Have to admit, it works for you,” I said. “Were you waiting for me?”

“I heard you talked to the Shimadas,” she said. “I want to know how Genji was.”

“Alright, Moira, I’m not too sure you want to know about Genji.”

“Why wouldn’t I? I hired you to find dirt on him, and you found him in the middle of an orgy,” she said. “That had to have ruffled some feathers with the more…conservative Shimadas. Tell me, how much trouble is he in?”

“Moira, it’s already a miracle that you got to fuck across syndicate lines,” I said, “don’t go thinking much of your revenge. It was good, just leave it at that.”

“And I need to know if it’s _continuing_ to be good,” she said with a predatory smile. “Tell me how he’s dealing with being put in the dog house.

“Alright,” I sighed, “he’s not in trouble. Not anymore.”

That got Moira to blink.

“What do you mean, he’s not in trouble anymore?”

“Just that; he’s in good standings with everyone. Hell, it seemed he was already back to fucking whores the night Bastion got whacked.”

Moira was in a good mood, but hearing that, her temper quickly soured. Soon she was scowling.

“Told you, you don’t want to know.”

“He’s _already_ fucking whores?” Moira spat. “That little shite thinks he can do anything.”

“Mostly because he has a name that lets him do anything,” I sighed.

“You honestly believe that load of bollocks?”

“I know Genji believes it.”

That got Moira to scoff.

“That poorly endowed gobshite thinks the world owes him a favor,” she snarled.

“Genji is plenty of things, but ‘poorly endowed’ is certainly not one of them,” I sighed. “Don’t look at me like that, Moira. A closely guarded secret his dick is not. Half of Genji’s life is bumbling about doing Shimada clan work, the other half is spreading the Good Word of His Cock. It’s because of that ‘not poorly endowed’ trait that makes Genji think he can do whatever to whomever whenever he wants.”

“Listen to you! What do you know of men, Ms. Lesbian?”

“I know not to get involved with them.”

Moira glared at me. I let her.

“Look, Moira, I’m sorry you got the shit end of the stick on that, I really am,” I said. “But you really got to count your blessings. You fucked across syndicate lines. Normally that’d get you an ass kicking in the least. Actually, I’m kind of amazed Talon didn’t kill you just to set an example. Guess being the only doctor in their pocket has it’s perks, huh?

“You got to fuck Genji, and got away with it. If the rumors are true, fucking is the only thing he does well; he’s even good at fucking himself over! Not only did you get to ride Genji and get away with it, you even got to throw some shit back at him. And it hurt him. It embarrassed him in front of his family, so own that.”

I gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder. Maybe Moira cut her hair as a way to get back at Genji, or to get over him.

“And thanks for the whiskey. From what I remember, it was good.”

“No rubbing my nose in it, no taking cheap shots at me?” Moira said. “You’re actually in a good mood for once. Did you fuck?”

“Oh, I fucked alright,” I grinned. “It was lovely chatting with you, but I got a meeting with the Reaper.”

I left Moira to glare at me as I made it to the boss’ room. I walked in, and saw Reyes sitting at his desk, the Widow next to him.

Reyes looked like he always did. Hair fashionably slicked back, clothes immaculate and sharp, a red shirt with black jacket, he was dangerous. The Widow was wearing another deep purple dress, this one backless. She sat on his desk, surrounded by bullets. She had a handful of them, and was loading a magazine. Spying a pressing machine off to the side, it looked like the Widow was making her own bullets.

“Have you found out who did this to Bastion?” Reyes asked.

“I have some leads, but want to ask some questions.”

Reyes gestured, and I sat down in front of his desk. Behind him was a long window looking out at the back of the warehouse. He had a better office when this all started, but after getting into wars and facing tough times, he was pushed into this warehouse. I idly wondered if he hated the constant reminder of how much Talon had fallen.

“Bastion is dead, and you ask us questions?” The Widow sighed, tapping the filled magazine against the desk. She set it in line with a few dozen others, and went to fill another magazine.

“I wasn’t hired to point fingers, I was hired to find the killer,” I said.

“It sounds like an easy job to me.”

“That’s because you’re a killer, not a private eye.”

The Widow narrowed her eyes at me.

“Oh step off it,” I sighed. “You don’t need me to remind you of what you are.”

“Amélie, you know she’s right,” Reyes said. “We’re all killers here. We can’t get this fucker by looking down a gun barrel, we need someone with better eyes.”

“That’s why I’m here,” I said. “Want to hear what I have to say?”

“Lay it on us,” Gabriel said, leaning back in his chair.

“Right, this is gonna be really, really tricky,” I said. “Have you been talking with Sombra?”

“She thinks someone from outside the city did this. Something-something-something Illuminati want to take over the city.”

“Good news: I’m ninety-nine percent certain it’s _not_ the Illuminati.”

“That’s a relief,” the Widow laughed.

“Bad news: I don’t think she’s wrong.”

“The hell do you mean?” Reyes asked.

“This killing was planned to perfection,” I said. “Someone knew Bastion well enough, or got to know him well enough, to realize he had a gun in his office. That meant they didn’t need to smuggle one in, because Zarya would’ve sniffed it out in a second.

“I found a doctored manifest at a Deadlock port. Someone fudged the records, masking their entrance into and out of the city. What’s more, there was a gunfight there, some local guys must’ve been hired to stand guard. Too bad they ran into Jesse fuckin’ McCree.”

That got both Gabriel and the Widow to hiss in anger.

“Yeah, exactly that,” I said. “I talked with Hanzo; he’s had no information of odd smugglers coming into the city, or false imports. Since these killers found a way past Zarya’s defenses and Baptiste’s documentation, they know how to plan. And the police know of a few people who might benefit from having every syndicate go at it with a big war, but those are fucking long shots.”

“So you know it’s not some conspiracy, but you can’t disprove this,” Reyes said.

“Exactly. You’ve got a finger on the pulse of the hitman squads. I was hoping you’d get word of some action being planned, anything that might fall on the day that Bastion was killed. No one inside the city would kill Bastion, but I was hoping you’d hear murmurs of something from outside.”

Reyes and the Widow traded looks. She got off the table, going to a bookshelf. She came back, opening it.

“Is that your infamous black book?”

“All due respect, you don’t get to look at this,” Gabriel said.

“Let me guess: you’ll have to kill me.”

“Small leaks sink great ships, and you’d be the only leak we know of.”

Shivering, I turned around, letting the two flip through the pages in relative privacy. I _really_ didn’t need to know where any bodies were buried, certainly not when I could get whacked for it myself.

“Mind if I smoke?” I asked.

“Knock yourself out.”

I rummaged through my jacket pocket, I pulled out my dwindling supply of smokes. I lit it up, and leaned back. God, did I hope this was nothing. I really hope I was just chasing a bad lead.

What happened to me? At first I was basking in the glow of spending the night with Angela, and now I was back to diving into the muck of the city. Then again, with Reyes talking about killing me, that got my mind on the war that could still very well break out.

Maybe I should leave. Things were going to shit, and I doubted I could stop it. I should just drive back to my place, pack a suitcase, then go to the hotel and grab Angela. My Raptora had plenty of space for the both of us, I still had some cash on me, we could just drive and drive and drive, put this fucking city in the rear view mirror, and find a better place. A place that wasn’t being torn about by greedy syndicates.

I wanted to do that. God, did I want to do that so bad, to just run away with Angela. But there was still a chance I could stop this. There was still a chance I could save a lot of lives, not to mention avenging Bastion’s death.

Sometimes I hated that good side of me.

The book was gracelessly closed. I turned around.

“Anything?” I tapped the ashes of my cigarette out in a nearby crystal ashtray.

Both Gabriel and the Widow had dark looks on their face.

“Please tell me there’s something,” I gasped.

“There was plenty of activities in the city the night of Bastion’s death,” the Widow said. “Some of ours, mostly Calamity’s, but nothing we couldn’t trace.”

“Wait, you mean you can trace who killed who? Like, which syndicate whacked someone?”

“It helps us stay ahead,” Gabriel said. “It keeps us on our toes. And with Sombra’s help, we get to plan another step ahead.”

Oh shit. Reyes wasn’t fucking around. He was tracking every murder he could to tell when a turf was starting. And if he had Sombra helping him, he probably knew everything about a person when they dropped dead.

All so he could hit first, to hit the hardest if someone came at him. No wonder they called him the Reaper.

“T-Then I’m glad you’re keeping good records,” I said, trying to stay calm. “So, anything out of place you can see?”

“Nothing,” he said.

The bluntness made my stomach do a flip.

“Nothing,” I repeated.

“Not a thing,” he grumbled. “There’s only a few killings with people outside the city. Most of the time, someone from outside comes in to do a job; we’re good at tracking them. Sometimes, someone inside the city kills someone from without; we know whenever that happens.”

“And you probably know when someone will head south until the whole thing cools down, right?”

“All too well,” Gabriel said. “Hell, we even keep track of the people who talk to an outside hitman, but don’t follow through. We get plenty of those.”

“But all of the outside hitmen that we track are accounted for,” the Widow said. She shook her head. “We were expecting someone inside the city would be the one to kill Bastion, not anyone from outside it.”

“You were expecting a war?” I asked.

“I used to run this city,” Reyes grumbled. “Gambling, smuggling, drugs, hits, robbery, everything! And I had it taken away from me, piece by piece. I’ll never let that happen again. This is my insurance in case someone tries something funny, and a chance to take it all back should the opportunity arise.”

Oh fuck. I wasn’t scared by the Reaper, no, I was scared that there might be someone _other _than the Reaper planning to launch a first strike, because he’d hit back, and he’d hit hard.

This was not good. I had nothing to show for my work, absolutely nothing. No, not just nothing, I had jack fucking shit. There was no doubt in my mind that a war would come, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Suddenly running away with Angela looked pretty damn good.

The phone on Gabriel’s desk rang. He paused for a split second, then plucked it out of its cradle, quick as anything I’ve seen.

“Talk to me, Sombra,” he growled. “When…? Just now? And where…? Thank you.”

He hung up.

“Looks like Ashe just struck first,” he said.

“What?” I gasped.

“I expected her to,” the Widow said. “She’s far too impatient.”

“Then you’ll finally get the chance to kill her and Jesse fuckin’ McCree.”

“Long overdue,” she smiled.

“Hold up,” I said, “what the hell just happened?”

“Calamity Ashe just went after one of the Shimada’s opium dens,” Gabriel grinned. “This is the first shot in the war.”

“Wait, stop,” I gasped, jumping to my feet. “You can’t go to war.”

“I’m not. Ashe is, and where Ashe goes, the Shimadas will follow, and the cops will move in, and Talon will take them all,” he said. Holy shit, Reyes was in full-on Reaper mode.

“Give me a chance,” I begged.

“Peace was never an option in this city.”

“It’s only been a few days since Bastion was killed! I can still solve this, please, let me!”

War couldn’t come, too many people would die. And at the same time, dammit, did I ever want to run away!

“Do you think you can really stop the Calamity from doing what she does best?” The Widow asked, a laugh on her lips.

“I can try! Please, just let me try to calm things down, no one needs to die.”

The Reaper traded looks with the Widow.

“Just a few hours, please,” I begged.

“One hour,” Gabriel said, holding up a finger. “One hour, and if you can stop this, maybe I’ll stop my plans before they start. They’re fighting by Pier Twenty-One. Call me if you can pull it off.”

Fuck!!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fareeha has to prevent a war by working this case, but now she has to actually stop a war by stopping Calamity Ashe.  
Flying by the seat of her pants, she blindly runs towards a gunfight.

My Raptora screamed fury as I pushed the gas pedal down into the floor. I cut off a slow-moving car, taking a split second to feed another gear to my hungry bird of prey. Fuck, fuck, fuck! This could not be happening! This could _not _be the start to the biggest, and last, mob war the city would ever see!

I went to shift again, but found I was already in my last gear. Fortunately, the gears were big, and my Raptora had plenty left to give. Good thing I didn’t shift, I had to heel-toe to slide onto the highway on-ramp. My tires screaming for mercy, but the engine begged for more.

One hour. I had one hour to drive across the city to get to this fucking gunfight, get there before the cops came to add more fuel to the fire, try to talk some sense into the goddamn Calamity, and call Reyes to get him to stand down. This is bullshit!!

This is the only way to save the city from drowning in blood.

This could not be happening. Yet here I was.

There weren’t many cars on the road, but everyone drove so gorram slow! Move, bitch! I’m on a mission!

I laid on the horn as I swerved through the traffic, the echoing sound of other horns blasting behind me. I fed the next gear to my Raptora, and it growled in pleasure. Faster, I had to go faster…

“Come on baby, please, I need some more,” I begged.

I looked at the dashboard, and my eyes bulged out of my head. I’d wound it up to a hundred-and-ten! My speedometer said I’d hit top end. I took a half-second to look at the gas pedal; my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me, my foot was glued like lead to the floor.

My Raptora howled and roared, but I heard the familiar sound of an engine over-revving, begging for a gear that wasn’t there. That’s all there is, there ain’t no more.

“Fuck!!”

I backed off a little, just to keep the tach from getting into redline. But I kept it hovering damn close. Jesus, the lines on the road just looked like dots!

“I’m sorry baby, please, just a little more, I need to get there!”

I was roaring by, getting closer to the piers. Pier Twenty-One was the delimiter between Deadlock and Shimada territory. The Shimadas had an opium den there; not in spite of the close proximity to Deadlock grounds, but because that’s where Calamity Ashe drew the line there when Hanzo struck peace.

One last turn to go north along the beach; I took it far too fast, sliding through a few lanes as I did so. I crossed my fingers for a little bit of luck, and tried to keep my eyes open as I ended up sideswiping a truck. It blared it’s horn, and swerved wildly. Sorry, but I can’t stop.

Stop? Shit. As I got closer to the pier, I wondered how I’d stop. Well, my Raptora had pretty good brakes, and the tires were still good…looked like my next stop would be to a garage to buy some new tires, can’t exactly drive on bald rubber.

The exit ramp came, and I eased on the brakes. The tires screamed as they tore up pavement, and I watched the needle drop from a buck-ten to ninety, to eighty, to seventy…

But the ramp led to a hard turn, a turn to cross the highway and get to the pier, and I needed to get through with every ounce of speed I could.

A car sat ahead of me, waiting for the green light. Oh please turn green, oh please turn green, oh fucking please! You goddamn bastard! Turn green!! Turn green you motherfucker!!!

The light finally turned green as I got maybe twenty yards away from it. I pulled onto the thin curb and I heel-toe shifted again. I really hit the gas, spiking the tach, and my Raptora howled as the lower gears slowed it down more than the brakes did. I threw the steering wheel to the side, and almost rocketed accros the car, the seat belt cutting into my shoulder as it kept my ass in the driver’s seat.

Horns blared as I saw the approaching bridge wall growing larger and larger. But the tires held, screaming their abuse to the heavens as they got just enough traction to keep my ass from slamming into the wall. I laid on the gas, fighting to keep my Raptora in a straight line, somehow keeping the back end from swinging out.

Holy shit, I took that corner at sixty fucking miles an hour!

Ahead of me, I saw the pier. And I saw a gang of motorcycles lined up outside a warehouse. Bikers were taking cover behind cars, mail boxes, or in other buildings. There were bikers taking shots at the building, and I saw flashes of light from the windows of the building; Calamity Ashe and the Shimadas were still duking it out, and there wasn’t a cop there yet.

I made it!

Wait, shit, how could I stop them?

Fuck!!

I grit my teeth. I just made the trip across town in record time, this whole thing was me flying by the seat of my pants. I could come up with something.

So I slammed on the brakes, coming to a dead halt maybe thirty yards from the action. Oh God, I hope my Raptora didn’t get shot. I killed the engine. Well, here goes nothing.

“Stop!” I yelled, jumping out. “Stop! Ashe, can you hear me? Stop!!”

Now that I wasn’t deafened by a massive V8, I was deafened with gunshots. I could make out pistols, but there was a few rifles and an odd Tommy gun, too. The street was long since deserted; the only people left were Deadlock and Shimadas.

I had my hands raised, and I prayed to fucking God no one thought I was worth a bullet.

“Ashe!!”

“The fuck are you doing here?”

I looked around, and saw Ashe peeking out from an alleyway across the street from the warehouse. She had a rifle in her hands; Bob and Jesse fuckin’ McCree were with her, too.

“Trying to get you to stop,” I said, running over to her.

“Little goddamn late for that,” Calamity Ashe snarled. “The Shimadas were talkin’ shit! They probably had a hand in Bastion getting whacked, I ain’t gonna let those bastards get away with it.”

“Ashe, please, you need to stop.”

A burst of gunfire from the pier slammed into the brick wall near me. I screamed as bits of rock and shrapnel bit into my side. I ducked further behind the wall.

“There’s your answer, dick,” Ashe snapped. “Those fuckers want blood? I’ll give ‘em blood! Bob—!”

“Stop!”

I reached out and grab Bob’s arm. Now that I saw him, holy shit! He was carrying a fuck-off machine gun, an M2 Browning from the War!

And I reached out to grab his arm to hold him back. Bob looked at me, and I could tell he was thinking ‘what the fuck is she doing?’

Good question, Bob. I haven’t the slightest.

“Ashe,” I stammered, “you’re starting a war.”

“This war was a long time comin’.”

“You know how many people will die?”

“As long as more Shimadas die than my guys, it don’t matter.”

“Reyes is looking to make a move on you!”

That got Ashe to stop. Too bad it didn’t get the Shimadas to stop shooting. Guns roared, bullets flew around us, I heard them hitting metal car doors, bricks, and the ground. Every so often, I’d hear a man scream.

“Reyes wants in on this, too?” She said.

“He’s looking to take a piece out of everyone, at the same time,” I gasped. “And he’ll do it since you’re too fucking busy taking shots at the Shimadas. He knows where to hit you, Ashe, and after that, I doubt even you’d be able to give as good as you got.”

“Then what are you saying?” Jesse asked. “You think getting us to stop will get the Reaper to back off?”

“He gave me an hour,” I snapped. “An hour to talk some sense into everyone! Now I got less than that, maybe half an hour to talk some sense into you assholes.”

“I don’t think the Shimadas will stop.”

“Not if they listen to you,” I said, glaring at Jesse. “Or you, Ashe.”

“Wait, you really think you can talk them down on this?” Ashe laughed.

Why wasn’t this bitch fucking piss terrified of being in a gunfight?! She looked like we were going for a picnic!

Oh, right. This is the insane Calamity Ashe.

“I can try,” I stammered, trying to sound brave.

“Now this I gotta see,” Ashe grinned, lowering her rifle. “I saw Hanzo walk in as we rolled up. If you can get him to stop, I’ll stop, too.”

“You really think she can do it, boss?” Jesse asked.

“I think I’m in for a good show regardless.”

Oh this was just peachy-fucking-keen; suddenly I became Ashe’s entertainment. Sad thing is this is still the best plan I could think up.

“Just…don’t shoot me,” I stammered.

“Oh, _I_ won’t,” Ashe smiled.

“Fuck you, you batshit crazy bitch!”

That just got Ashe to laugh. I edged my way to the end of the alley. What the fuck was I doing with my life?

“Hanzo!” I yelled. “Hanzo! It’s me, Fareeha! Can you stop?”

That sent a handful of bullets my way. I dove back behind the wall to relative safety.

And Ashe was just grinning like a fucking bitch.

“Can you get your men to stop?” I asked.

“Why?” Ashe chuckled.

“So Hanzo can hear me!”

“Alright, why not?” She laughed. “This is gold already. Hey! Deadlock! Hold up a minute!”

Ashe hollered, and about seven seconds later, the gunshots died down.

“All you,” she smiled, gesturing for me to continue.

Oh, I wish I had my gun. I’d shoot Ashe right here, right now, I don’t give a fuck what happens to me.

Instead, I inched towards the entrance to the alleyway.

“Hanzo,” I yelled. “It’s me, Amari. Fareeha Amari! Can you hear me?”

I didn’t get any bullets sent my way. I peeked out, and saw the bullet-riddled warehouse ahead of me. I saw a few people peering out from the windows, and the long barrels of rifles sticking out as well. Behind some cars, facing the warehouse, were Ashe’s Deadlock bikers.

“Hanzo, please, I need to talk!”

“You’re late, Amari.”

I gasped as I heard Hanzo’s voice shout out to me.

“I just got here! That’s my car up there,” I yelled back. “That’s my Raptora. Please don’t shoot her. Or me.”

“What are you doing here?”

Hanzo was yelling at me, not trusting to poke his head out. Can’t say I blame him.

“I’m trying to get everyone to stop,” I said, taking step after nervous step out into the open. “Please, don’t shoot me.”

I walked out, every single part of me shaking. This was the middle of a gorram firefight, and all I could do was just hope no one would kill me. Never mind that these were people who killed before.

“Listen,” I yelled, “this is gonna start a war.”

“No shit. Tell that to the psycho bitch Calamity.”

“You say ‘psycho bitch’ like it’s a bad thing, sweetheart,” Ashe laughed from the alleyway.

“Ashe, shut the fuck up! You’re not helping!!”

“I’m not looking to~” she sang back.

“Just stop, please,” I begged her. “Hanzo, I talked with Ashe. She’ll stop shooting if you stop shooting.”

“She’s the one who broke the truce,” he spat. “She brought war to me.”

“And she’ll leave, that’s the deal I have with her.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because I’m close to cracking the case,” I yelled, lying through my teeth. “I just need a little more time to figure out who killed Bastion. I know it wasn’t you, but it wasn’t Ashe either. Just, just let this go, please, and I’ll tell you who the killer is.”

My heart slammed in my chest as I waited. The seconds felt like hours. All it took was one guy to think I wasn’t worth it…

In the distance, sirens screamed. The cops were coming.

“Fine,” Hanzo spat. “Get that warmongering whore out of here without firing a shot, and I’ll let her walk. But you have until tonight to find the truth.”

“T-tonight?”

“Tonight, nine pm,” Hanzo said. “You’ll meet us at the hotel, and you’ll tell us who killed Bastion. Otherwise I’ll strike back, and I’ll take out Ashe like I should’ve done longago.”

Oh fuck.

“Ashe, you need to get out of here,” I yelled over my shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard ya,” she said, sauntering out. “Damn. Was kinda hoping for a fight. But I can wait until tonight. You hear that, Shimada? You got until tonight to make peace with whatever god or gods you have. Shit, you probably worship spirits or some crap.”

“I was raised Catholic, you racist whore,” he yelled back.

Ashe just laughed at that.

“Alright boys, let’s get out of here.”

The dozen or so of her soldiers got up, and carefully made their way around the pier; plenty were injured, grabbing at arms or legs, leaving a trail of blood on the ground. Calamity Ashe herself strutted away like nothing happened, Jesse at her right elbow, Bob to her left. As the police sirens grew louder, I heard their bikes being kickstarted, and driving off. As soon as the last bike echoed away, I collapsed against the nearest car.

I was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane gale. Shit, I wouldn’t be surprised if every single strand of hair I had vibrated. Everything sounded a million miles away as I dug through my pockets for a smoke.

I pulled out the pack, but in my mad rush to get here, I sat on it. I didn’t have a few cigarettes, all I had ground tobacco with bits of paper in it.

A hand reached down, holding out a fresh pack. I looked up; Hanzo stood over me.

“You need this more than I do,” he said, shaking the pack.

Nodding my thanks, I took it and pulled out a few smokes. Hanzo lit me up, and I inhaled nearly fucking half of it in one go.

“That was a very brave thing you did,” he said.

“I don’t feel brave.”

“Most brave people don’t,” he said. “You’re acting more and more like Bastion.”

“Not my goal,” I said, powering through the cigarette. Taking a page from Sombra’s book, I chainlit the next one.

“Guess I better get ready for the cops,” he sighed. “At least I was attacked. I was just exercising my right to defend myself.”

“It writes itself,” I stammered. “Hey, Hanzo, you got a phone? Need to make a phone call.”

“Inside.”

“Thanks. What about a bathroom? I’m not sure if I have to puke, piss myself, or do both.”

* * *

I ended up doing both. The second I finished calling Reyes, and got his promise to not start a war, I stumbled to a bathroom and I fell to the toilet, puking my guts up. I’ve only been in a couple gunfights when I was a cop, and they were all terrifying. But having to stand in the middle of a showdown? How did I not get a tunnel dug in me?!

Once that end was done, I was barely able to flush the toilet and get my pants down before anything truly embarrassing happened. Next time I get constipated, I should get into a gunfight. How did people like Calamity Ashe and Jesse fuckin’ McCree do it? They really _were _crazy.

By the time I got everything out, the cops were there, taking notes. I stumbled outside, and saw Hanzo talking with Jack.

“Look who it is,” Jack said. “Hanzo says you’re the woman of the hour.”

“I wish to God I wasn’t,” I gasped, somehow managing to walk in a straight line.

“That’s the taste of war for you,” Jack said. “Hanzo says that Calamity Ashe blew in, and turned the place into a bullet fiesta. How’d you get them to stop?”

“Ashe agreed to stop if I could get Hanzo to stop,” I said. “Twisted bitch thought it was funny, watching me stand out in the open, screaming for peace.”

“And you stopped for what reason?” Jack asked Hanzo.

“The private eye says she’s close to finding Bastion’s killer,” Hanzo said. “As much as I hate the Calamity, I hate Bastion’s killer more. I want to see who it is, so I can deliver the proper revenge for Bastion’s sake.”

I tried to put on a brave face. I was so far up a creek, I had to be lost in the Yukon territories.

“And Ashe actually agreed?” Jack asked.

“She got her kicks,” I mumbled. “She probably wants to ‘talk’ with the killer herself, too.”

“Can’t say I blame her,” Jack said. “So when are you gonna tell us who the killer is?”

“I…I just need a little more time, try to put some more pieces together,” I said.

“She has until tonight,” Hanzo said. “The hotel, nine pm. That is where we’ll meet.”

“And if no one shows up?” Jack asked. “What will you do?”

Hanzo glared at Jack.

“What would you do in my situation?”

“You want to start a war?” Jack asked, his eyes narrowing.

“No, war was brought to me.”

“So you’ll strike back.”

“I never said that.”

“You said you'd do what I’d do,” Jack snapped.

“And you said you would become violent. This is not my answer, rather a simple rabbinical moment.”

Jack and Hanzo glared at each other, but Jack grudgingly relented.

“Nine pm, you said?”

“Nine pm.”

I looked at my watch. I had just under five hours to pull a golden egg out of my ass.

“See you there, Fareeha,” Jack said.

I stumbled back to my Raptora. Somehow it wasn’t shot, thank God. I got in, and collapsed in the seat. What was I going to do?

My head was swimming. I needed someone to talk to. Hell, I needed someone to hold me. So I cranked the engine, and drove to the hotel.

Zarya met me as I pulled up. She doubled her guards, and judging from the heavy jackets they wore, they were packing some serious heat.

“Are the rumors true?” Zarya asked as I got out of my Raptora.

“Zarya, this has been a bad fucking day, can you be more specific?” I sighed.

“Did Ashe make a move against Hanzo?”

“And somehow, I stopped it.”

“You’re turning into Bastion,” she snorted.

“Please don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” she said. “And the other rumor? That you’ve figured out who killed him?”

“And at nine pm I’ll share my hard work,” I said, trying not to cry.

“Good. It will stop this city from killing itself.”

I was barely able to toss the keys to her. I stumbled in, and saw a beautiful blonde rush towards me.

“Fareeha,” Angela gasped. “I…I heard, oh, it was the worst rumor! Was there a gunfight?”

“And somehow I stopped it.”

She wrapped me in a tight hug.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” she cried. “Please, never again.”

“I can’t promise you that.”

Angela looked up at me.

“What happened?”

“Can we go to your room?” I stammered. “I’d like you to hold me.”

She took my hand and led me to the elevator. I let myself be dragged along in a haze. I only really came to when we got to her room. Angela closed the door, and walked up to me, taking my hands.

“What is it?”

I broke down. The terror of the gunfight, and the damned knowledge that I couldn’t stop a war from breaking out poured out of me. I cried, collapsing on the sofa of the living room. And Angela held me.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” she said, cradling my head.

“It’s not,” I cried.

“It will be.”

“No, it’s not! I have to tell everyone who killed Bastion tonight, at nine!”

“Then we can finally be done with this.”

“But I don’t know who did it,” I sobbed. “I tried, I tried so hard! I couldn’t find anything, nothing sticks, my best gorram guess is a fucking conspiracy theory from a paranoiac, agoraphobic recluse!”

Angela went quiet at that.

“I got nothing, Angela. Nothing,” I cried. “And…and…and this city, oh God, it’s gonna blow up. Everyone will go at each other, blood will choke the gutters, innocent people will die by the score, it’ll be a massacre, and I couldn’t stop it!”

Angela’s hands, once so soft and inviting, seized up. It didn’t take her long to digest the news, and she knew how bad it was. I pulled myself from her warm, inviting hands, and looked at her. She was pale, shocked.

“Reyes didn’t have anything?” She asked.

“Nothing. He tracks every single outside hitman in the city, and no one made a move at Bastion. They fooled Ashe, they fooled the cops, they fooled the Shimadas, the fuckers pulled the wool over all our eyes, and I don’t have enough time to unravel any more it! Angela, there’s gonna be a war, and I’m not sure even Zarya can keep this place safe, not with four different syndicates duking it out.”

“Oh God,” she said, her voice breaking.

We both fell into each other’s arms, neither of us wanting to let go. This was it, this was the calm before the storm. This war would be biblical. This war would destroy the city. This was the end of it all.

And I couldn’t stop it.

Angela let go of me, if only to gently place her forehead against mine.

“I…I don’t think I could leave the city,” she mumbled.

“We have to. It’s the only chance we have to survive.”

“I’m a doctor, I have to help the injured.”

“If you stay here, you could die. The hotel’s sacred ground isn’t going to last against this shit storm. It’s gonna die with Bastion.”

“And if we run, we’ll probably die regardless,” she said. “Do you know what happens to people who try to skip town when the syndicates want something from them?”

“They tear them to pieces,” I mumbled. “I’ve seen what it looks like.”

“That’s what they’d do to us. Me, for abandoning the hotel, you for not delivering their suspect. Even if one syndicate survives, they might still hunt us, no matter where we might go.”

“But we can still run. We can still try. We have to, Angela. We have to try.”

“I still can’t leave this place, not when I know my skills will be needed.”

“God damn your sense of duty,” I cursed. “It’s so beautiful, but damn it all.”

Angela dried her tears.

“Kiss me.”

“What?”

“Kiss me, please,” she said. “We…we might not get another chance. This might just be the last time we can have this, before…”

She’s right. This’ll the last quiet time we’d ever have before everything went to shit. Jesus, I’m scared as fuck, but I’d be damned if a beautiful blonde told me to kiss her and I’d be unable to deliver.

So I kissed her, and she kissed me back. At first, it was tender, a request from a beautiful woman. But then a fire erupted in me. I thought my fear would dampen the mood, but it just made me all the hotter.

I’m going to die. Maybe not today, but probably tomorrow, and if not then, most likely the day after. But if I’m going to die, I’m getting one last fuck in before I went.

So I pulled her closer, kissed her harder, and Angela kissed me back, tearing at my clothes. I struggled to get out of them. Once I got down to my bra and boxers, I pulled at her dress’ zipper. Angela gasped as I pulled her dress down. She shuffled to her feet to get out of it. She kicked the dress to the side of the room, then realized we were still on the sofa.

“Bed,” she gasped.

I bolted to my feet, pulling her tight against me as we kissed and made a move for the bed. Somehow, we got there without falling down. Angela broke our kisses to push me down on the bed.

“Stay there,” she said, putting a hand against me. “I want to do to you what you did to me.”

Angela climbed on top of me, giving me a few amazing kisses. But then she was kissing my chin, then my neck, then my chest, going lower and lower with each kiss. I was burning up by the time she got to my hips. I cried out as she kissed my lips, then she was licking at me like I had done to her not too long ago.

“A-Angela,” I moaned. She took my hand as she continued to eat me out. God, did she learn this all from me? Was I that good a teacher, or is she that good a student?!

I gasped and cried as her tongue danced along me, then she gently sucked at my love button. My back arched as I cried, trying to hold it all back. But Angela pulled me closer, and slowly, lovingly pushed her tongue into me.

That pushed me over the edge. And Angela kept eating me out as my climax turned my brain to mush.

Soon I was gasping for breath, but Angela kept going, easing me back into the height of pleasure. Holy shit, I did do a good job teaching her!

“Oh God, I love you,” I moaned.

That finally got Angela to look up.

“I love you too, Fareeha,” she gasped. “Let me show you how much I love you.”

* * *

Angela held me as we lay together in bed. I stared at the clock, slowly, steadily, counted down the time.

Less than two hours until everything blew itself up.

“I can’t believe I’m here,” I croaked.

“Do you still want to run?”

“Far into the hills, far away from this shit heap.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Because you want to stay here for some godforsaken reason, some damn commitment to your duty.” I turned over, looking at the beautiful woman who captured my soul. “I really do love you.”

“And I love you, too,” Angela said, kissing me. “I…I don’t want to go down there.”

“Get in line,” I snorted. “I’ll have to tell everyone that my absolute best is a half-assed conspiracy theory some paranoiac came up with.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Only because I can’t find anything else that fits.”

Angela was quiet, playing with my hair.

“They’ll probably start the war there,” I said. “Reyes has plans set up so he could strike first. He’d probably try to kill someone in the room.”

“Zarya will screen their guns, take away any knives.”

“Who said he’d use guns or knives?”

Angela was quiet at that.

“We have to stop them,” she said.

“But how?”

“I don’t know how! But we have to stop them,” Angela said. “They’ll be doing the one thing Bastion never wanted: going to war.”

I couldn’t look at her. It felt like I was letting her down. So I lay there, with her arm around me, one hand playing with my hair.

Then she stopped playing with my hair.

I looked up at her. Angela had a look on her face.

“Angela?”

She blinked, brought to reality.

“I, I think I have something.”

“Don’t tell me you figured out who killed Bastion,” I said. “That’d just make me feel like a bad private eye.”

“No, I don’t know who did it, but I think I might’ve found a way to stop a war.”

A small ember of hope lit up my breast. I sat up.

“How?”

“We have to do this for Bastion,” she said, sitting up herself. “He wanted peace, so we have to make them come to peace.”

“I hate to say it sweetheart, but that ain’t gonna happen when they’re about to tear the city a new asshole.”

“But I think I have a way,” she said. “Look at the facts: we know someone killed Bastion, and it looks like they want to start a war.”

“I can’t one-hundred-percent confirm that, but it sure looks like it.”

“Forget one-hundred-percent,” she snapped. “This is what we’ll use to save the city.”

Now she had my attention.

“Look, someone wants this city,” she said. “They want to take it from the syndicates, and killing Bastion is how they wanted to start a war. And it will work! We’re almost at war right now!”

“In something like an hour and a half, we _will_ be.”

“That just means they’ll win,” she said. “I might not have lived in this town very long, but I know absolutely no one would want to give this mysterious group the satisfaction knowing they got played.”

“This city runs on spite almost as much as it runs on money,” I chuckled.

“That’s what we’ll use: spite. That’s what will work. We tell them that this mysterious group wants us to kill each other, so we have to band together. If we band together, we’ll be giving Bastion what he wants: peace. A permanent peace.”

Now I was listening.

“If we get the syndicates to not fight each other, we’ll save the city. We’ll deny it to the interlopers, the ones looking to have us do the dirty work for them,” she said, passion entering her voice. “And we’ll be keeping the city in a state of peace. No one would have to fight, we would be giving Bastion the peace he strove for.”

“No one would ever go for that shit!” I laughed. “It’s way too beatnik for them!”

“This will have to do,” she said. “If we stay separate, we’ll have a war, and someone will stroll in and take control of the city without having to fight for it. They’d be making fools out of everyone.”

“Well, if there’s one thing everyone here hates, it's being played a fool,” I nodded.

“Exactly. If we work together, we can keep whomever did this out of the city. We’ll have peace. We’ll have our city, our peace, and we’ll be stronger together, able to face down any other outside threats that may be thrown at us.

“And all of this will be for Bastion, the man who fought so hard for it.”

As she spoke, confidence filled Angela’s voice. She was driven, she was passionate, she was doing this. I felt my heart swell in time.

“If we really play to their pride, their sense of spite, it…it just might work.”

“Do you think so?”

“I’m not sure, but we have to honor Bastion’s sacrifice,” I said. “I love it.”

Angela beamed as I pulled her in for a kiss.

“I have to get ready,” she said. “We have to get ready! You have to give them the news, and I’ll have to pitch the idea to them.”

“This is a fucking Hail Mary,” I chuckled.

“Do you think it’ll work?” Angela asked, worry lines creasing her face.

“I think it’s got a pretty damn good chance. Besides, it sure beats my idea of running away and hoping for what’s best.”

“Then let’s get ready,” my Swiss angel said.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time has come for Fareeha to reveal who killed Bastion.  
The problem is, she hasn't solved the case.  
But Angela has a long shot to save the city from a brutal mob war.

Time always flies when you’re under the gun. I took a shower, then Angela took a shower, and as I got myself ready, she dressed herself up. I didn’t have time to rush home for new clothes, but thankfully the room had an iron and ironing board, so at least I got rid of all the wrinkles in my clothes. Appearances mattered, appearances were half the battle.

So when Angela finally got out of the bathroom, my jaw hit the floor. She wore another gorgeous blue dress, one that hugged her gams, her hips, her breasts…hips and breasts that I was worshiping at not too long ago. She had a white fox fur draped across her shoulders, her lips painted blood red, her golden hair gently gently curled to perfection.

“Like it?” She smiled, doing a little twirl.

“W-where did you get that?” I croaked.

“I have a few nice dresses I wear for events when the syndicates meet.”

“I feel underdressed now,” I said, looking at my own trench coat, vest, dress shirt, and slacks.

“Hey,” she said, walking over. “You’ll do fine. You look dashing and handsome.”

“I look like a shit heap next to you.”

“No, you look like a handsome, gruff, no-nonsense private eye, one who isn’t fooled by a simple slight of hand trick.”

“Yet I’m going to pitch an insane conspiracy theory to a bunch of mobsters.”

“And you look the part to sell it,” she laughed, straightening my tie. “Fareeha, relax. You’ll be fine. This will all be fine.”

I could hear the stress in her voice. Angela wasn’t just trying to convince me.

“Fine,” I sighed. “We should get down there.”

We walked, arm in arm, to the elevator, taking it down to the lobby. Once there, we walked to the bar. Zarya and some of her men were standing guard.

“Everyone is here early, Dr. Ziegler,” Zarya said.

“I should’ve figured,” Angela sighed. “Let’s go in.”

Walking into the bar felt like diving face-first into a pool; at first it stung, like running into a solid wall, but it quickly washed over us. The tension was so thick, you could cut it with a dull butter knife.

The bar overflowed with made men and syndicated women. I saw Genji and Hanzo standing together, Mei at their side. Calamity Ashe was kicking back in a leather chair, smoking cigars with Jesse fuckin’ McCree. Bob stood at her shoulder, scanning the crowd. Even Baptiste was with her, looking much better. Hope he got over his flu, if we got out of this alive I’d hate to come down with it.

Reyes was leaning against the bar, as far away from the Shimadas as he could get. He had the Widow and Moira next to him, both sipping a glass of wine. He even pried Sombra out of her hole, although she stuck to his shadow. Sombra still looked strung out, and she was still dressed like a bum to boot. She sat in a chair behind Reyes, her knees drawn up to her chest, rocking and biting her nails.

At the street entrance I saw good old mom, sitting at a table with Jack, both of them dressed in their Class A dress uniforms, looking dashing. Hana and Lena were there as well, but something told me they were both just there to round out a group, like Baptiste was for Ashe.

Minions of every syndicate was with their leaders, making the entire bar seem like an over-sized high school cafeteria, each section broken off into the various cliques. Torbjörn worked the bar, filling in for Bastion.

“Fuck,” I mumbled. Once we were in the bar, eyes slowly drifted towards us.

“It’s time,” Angela said. She took a step forward, and raised her voice. “We all know why we’re here, so let’s get the meeting started.”

Every boss nodded, grabbed their drinks, and headed to the back room that previously belonged to Bastion. The minions waited at the bar, eyeing each other nervously.

“I need a friggin’ drink,” I gasped.

“I do, too,” Angela said. We turned to Torbjörn.

“Any chance of a war breaking out?” He asked.

“We’re working on ending one,” Angela said. “Vodka and club soda.”

“Whiskey on the rocks,” I said.

He gave us our drinks, and we went to Bastion’s meeting room. Angela and I were among the last to funnel in. Zarya closed the door behind us, leaving her men outside to guard it.

“Everyone here is unarmed,” she said to the room. “So relax.”

Like anyone here could relax!

Angela walked to the head of the table, the spot Bastion used to sit at. I followed her, and Zarya also stood behind her, just to discourage anyone from making a move at her.

“Well?” Jack asked me. “It’s been a few days. What have you found?”

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck.

My heart beat at a mile a minute. My undershirt and bra were getting soaked in cold sweat. How could I tell anyone this half-baked conspiracy theory? Jesus H. Christ, what had my life come to??

To be fair, this could be the last few pathetic moments of my life, so I didn’t have to worry about it too much. I mean, at least I had Angela with me.

I took a good pull of my whiskey. Fortunately, Torbjörn didn’t skimp on it. He filled it like it was water. Guess he knew how much I’d be needing it.

“I,” I stammered, “I couldn’t…there’s no definitive proof of who killed Bastion.”

That sat in the air for an uncomfortable length of time. Everyone glared death at me.

“Mind running that by me again?” Gabriel growled.

“I’ve turned over every stone I could think of, but I can’t give a name,” I said. “There are so few threads to follow, and fewer tracks. The scant pieces of the trail I was able to pick up point to an out-of-town threat, someone looking to make a move on all of us.”

“_I knew it!_” Sombra screeched. “I fucking knew it!! It’s the Conspiracy—!”

“Shut up,” the Widow spat, grabbing Sombra by whatever dirty collar she had. “We don’t need your damn conspiracy theories!”

“Fareeha, this can’t be real,” mom said.

“They followed me, they want me, they want us quiet and asleep…” Sombra muttered wildly to herself, rocking in her chair.

“It’s the only thing that fits,” I mumbled. “I can’t point to who is behind it, but someone wanted to start a war. Killing Bastion is the spark.”

“Then you’re useless,” Genji spat. “This is even worse than having the cops point a finger at someone at random!”

“We do good work,” Jack yelled.

“Yeah, when it suits you,” Calamity Ashe laughed.

“And when it pays well,” Mei added.

“Fuck you all,” Jack spat. “We’re the reason this city stays afloat!”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Gabriel laughed.

“You think this ‘conspiracy’ is fake? Oh no, there’s _some_ truth behind it,” Jack raged. “Do you have any idea how hard the Feds are pushing to move in on this town? Any at all? The FBI has it out for us, and I’m the one keeping their noses out of it! J. Edgar Hoover himself wants this town, and you should all be fucking grateful that I’m not letting him have it!!”

“And that justifies you milking this city for every cent it has?” Hanzo demanded.

“Gotta grease the wheels somehow,” the Widow shrugged, finally leaving Sombra alone. “Trust me, I was married to one of them.”

“Go to hell, the lot of you,” mom hissed. “You know nothing on how the world works!”

“Oh, we know too well how the world works,” Genji said. “We know too well what the great United States thinks of us!”

“What, that you’re butchers who want to have the biggest dick in the room, literal and metaphorical?” Ashe howled. “Everyone knows what you did to Bob. You’re either fresh off the boat, or you’re too damn dumb to be breathing.”

Everyone started yelling at each other. Dear God, I should’ve ran. I could only stand by shaking as a war start. This is so fucked—

“This is for Bastion!!” Angela bellowed, pounding the table as she got to her feet.

That got everyone’s attention.

“We’re doing this for Bastion,” she said in the silence that followed. “We’re here, talking, because of Bastion. We’re keeping the peace as best we can, because of Bastion. But now, just because he’s gone, you suddenly want to go to war?”

“No one’s going to war,” Jack said.

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” she spat. “Everyone is thinking how to strike first.”

Everyone glared at everyone else. Even a blind rat could see this coming.

“Bastion gave his life to keep this city spinning,” Angela said. “He gave his life so we could keep a peace, and now you want to break it? Dammit, I’m actually _glad _that Bastion is dead. Knowing all he worked for is turning into worthless shit? It would destroy him.”

“What are you saying?” Reyes said. “You want us to keep the peace just because it’s what Bastion would want?”

“Yes, but not only that,” she said. “Someone wants this city; that much is clear. You think this is something that only the paranoid Sombra could come up with?”

“It _is _something only the paranoid Sombra could come up with,” Jesse fuckin’ McCree snorted.

“Just because you hide from the Truth doesn’t mean it can’t hurt you!” Sombra shrieked.

“Shut up!” Angela yelled. “All of you!”

Angela gasped for breath, but she had a look of rage, of determination, on her face.

“Someone wants this city,” she said, pointing at the wall. No, not at the wall. She was pointing outside of the city, at the shadows. “It doesn’t matter whom it is, because it doesn’t matter. The ‘Illuminati,’ the Feds, another syndicate, it doesn’t fucking matter! They killed Bastion because They knew you’d kill each other because of it.

“Can’t you see? If Talon, the police, Deadlock, and the Shimadas fight, none of you would win. It would leave one weakened, anemic, tottering syndicate left, and then They roll in, and clean you up in less time it takes for you to eat lunch. They wouldn’t even break a sweat! If you go to war, you’re not only spitting on Bastion’s grave, you’re handing the city to Them on a silver platter. Do you want that? Do you want to be played a fool?”

That got everyone growling. I’m not sure if anyone in the room came to the same conclusion that Angela and I came to, but Angela was doing a good job lying it out for them to understand. She made it so idiot-proof that even Ashe and Jesse fuckin’ McCree kept up.

“I didn’t think so,” Angela said. “If we go to war, we play into Their hands. If we go to war, we dishonor Bastion’s life work. We need to stay at peace, to keep this city under our control, and to honor Bastion’s memory. We need to do him right, and we need to curb our violent tastes.”

‘Keep the city in our control?’ Angela was laying it on kind of thick. Still, it got a few people to nod.

“Then what are you saying?” Ashe said. “You just want us to let Bastion’s killer go?”

“We have to, because we don’t know whom pulled the trigger,” Angela admitted. “But who killed Bastion doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because whomever did the deed didn’t just want to kill a man, They wanted to kill an ideal. They wanted to kill an icon. If we keep Bastion’s message of peace alive, we keep him alive, and we spit in the faces of the bastards who did this to us.”

That earned her a few more nods. My heart was still slamming against my ribs, but I was starting to see a ray of light at the end of this tunnel.

Jesus fucking Christ, I hope I didn’t just jinx myself…

“We can’t let Them split us apart,” Angela continued. “We need to come together. We can’t give Them individual, crumbling walls, we need to present them a strong, unified front.

“We need to work together.”

“’Work together?’” Mom snorted. “And how do you propose we do that? Sit in a circle, read some poems, beat a few drums?”

That got some laughs. Fuck, this is starting to spiral out of control. We need to keep everyone on the same page, on the same goal. But how could I do that? How could Angela?

“B-but if we don’t, They’ll come in and take the city,” she said.

“So we just ignore Bastion’s murder?” Hanzo asked.

“Like hell we will,” Ashe spat.

“T-then we’ll have to merge,” Angela stammered, her cheeks flushing. I could see her mentally grabbing at straws. “We should become one syndicate.”

I wasn’t the only one staring at Angela. For a handful of seconds, no one did anything; I sure as fuck didn’t know what to say. Then the laughing and jeering started, mostly from all the bosses.

“Become one syndicate,” Jack laughed. “Oh, that’s good!”

“I would’ve stuck with the drum circle,” Moira cackled.

“No, no, we have to merge, we need this to keep this city our own,” my angel yelled over them. “We need this to keep Bastion’s memory alive. We need this, because it makes us all strong, and it makes Them weak.”

As Angela talked, her confidence grew. I watched her take control, my heart swelling with pride and love as my angel went to war.

“Don’t you see? The only way out is through,” she said. “We need to become one, so They don’t tear us down, so They don’t make us play against each other, and into Their hands. We need to stick together, now more than ever.”

“You’re talking a good game,” Reyes said, “but what’s your idea for this ‘merge?’”

Angela paused as she gathered her thoughts. Jesus, she must be flying by the seat of her pants as much as I did this morning!

“We, uh, become one syndicate, but—but play to our strengths,” she stammered. “Reyes, you and Talon can still run gambling dens and professional hits. Ashe, you can still run guns and other contraband. Hanzo, you can still smuggle drugs. Hell, you can expand those operations to other cities! And Jack, you can still run the police, greasing the wheels of bureaucracy, keeping us hidden from prying eyes.”

Where the hell was Angela getting this from? She’s much better coming up with a plan on the fly than I could ever be. My heart still beat stress-filled blood through my veins, but I could see that a few people were actually giving her a serious look. That’s much better than laughing at her before going to war.

“We all have our strengths. We…we just have to simply pool them all together, and we become bigger, better, stronger,” Angela continued. “This one syndicate will do everything. This one syndicate will be the city, and we will rule it all, together, with more money than we could ever count. We’ll keep this city from Them, and for us.”

I could see everyone mulling it over, trading glances with their own people. Holy shit, we just might do this. For once, we were working _with_ greed, not against it.

Then why did it feel like a bottomless pit opened up in my stomach?

“The cops won’t need to bust any rings or operations or dens, other than the odd one for photo ops to placate the public,” Angela continued, her confidence growing with every word. “Deadlock won’t need to knock over every bank, only those who are in on the racket so we can all collect insurance money. The Shimadas can grow their operation, pull in new sources of revenue, and expand ever outward, as can Talon’s gambling operations. Hell, they could send their own hitmen out to other cities, we can turn that into an export!

“We keep the money flowing. We pool everything together, and we all profit. And we keep the peace, just what Bastion wanted. We all keep this city firmly in _our_ pockets, and away from Them.”

“Who will run this syndicate?” Hanzo asked.

That got Angela to stop dead in her tracks. Shit, I wouldn’t trust anyone in this room with running a syndicate! Angela and I traded looks. She seemed to pale at the question. I looked around the room; a few people were already getting a greedy look in their eyes.

“I will,” Angela burst, stopping their wild plotting.

“You?” Ashe laughed. “Listen sugar, I don’t think you have the gumption in you.”

“I’ve stitched men back together,” Angela snapped. “I’ve stuffed disemboweled guts back into the owner’s gaping chest cavity. What makes you think I can’t do this?”

Holy shit, that got Ashe to pale and shut up!

“What’s more, I worked with Bastion, and no one else. I won’t play favorites. I’m declaring myself as an independent, one that everyone likes. Who else can lay claim to that crown?”

“I sure can’t,” I laughed. “You all hate me!”

“It has to be me,” Angela said shakily. “Besides, I know what Bastion wanted. I worked with him, more than anyone else here. I can keep this peace. All I need is everyone’s cooperation.”

“Then what will this new syndicate be called?” Jack asked, folding his arms.

“Blackwatch,” she smiled. “I’ll be making sure we all stay in the black, and not in the red. Either the financial red, or in blood.”

That earned a few chuckles.

“So we all pool our money in together, stick to what we do best, and what, ride off into the sunset?” Jesse asked.

“Yes, but everyone will need to pay a tithe to Blackwatch. To pay for the right to be in, to help off-set the cost of business. After all, someone has to pay Torbjörn and Zarya.”

“Got that right,” Zarya grumbled.

Heads nodded; it was only fair. For a half-baked plan made on the fly, this was actually working.

“I think we need to get more ambitious,” Ashe said lazily. “I can do more than just run guns and contraband. I need a bigger piece of the pie.”

My blood ran cold. Typical fucking Ashe, getting greedy and starting another goddamn war!

“You can expand when you can prove you’ve earned it,” Angela barked. “And for overstepping yourself, your first tithe has just gone up ten percent.”

Ashe looked like she got slapped. Where the hell did that come from? I wasn’t the only one who got caught off-guard by Angela’s authoritative tone; everyone looked shocked.

“I’m just saying, I can do more,” Ashe sneered.

“Then you better prove you can do more,” Angela said. Her face grew hard, almost carved from stone. “Or are you just as temperamental and childlike as everyone says you are, like that gunfight you started today just because you felt like it? Your tithe went up fifteen percent.”

Everyone backed off from the suddenly commanding Angela. Ashe looked about for a friendly face. She found none.

“Hey, come on, I’m just playing,” she said, trying to laugh. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”

“So you think I’m nothing? You think that just because I’m a doctor, an independent, I’m a pushover? Or do you think you can toe the line and get away with it? Your tithe is up twenty percent.”

Ashe swallowed.

“Look, we got off on the wrong foot—“

“We didn’t. I can go to twenty-five percent if you want.”

“No, it’s cool. I like this idea. We all share our kill, we all keep the city.”

Holy fuck. Did Angela just shut down Calamity Ashe?! If I wasn’t in love before, I’m in love now.

“Then this is what I suggest,” Angela said, looking out at the sea of faces. “We all set aside our differences, and become Blackwatch. We stick to our strengths, we pool our income, we cover each other, and we run this city, keep it in our hands and out of Theirs, and we honor Bastion’s vision of peace. Does anyone object?”

Heads shook ‘no.’

Holy shit.

“Everyone is fine with a tithe, to be evenly split?” Angela asked. “Except for Ashe, who’s first tithe is twenty percent higher?”

Ashe glowered at that, but she agreed all the same.

Holy. Shit.

“Then it’s settled,” Angela smiled. She raised her glass. “From this moment forward, we are no longer Talon, or the police, or the Shimada Clan, or the Deadlock Rebels.

“We are all Blackwatch. And we run this city.”

Everyone raised their glasses with her.

“To Blackwatch,” my mother said. “Long may we reign.”

“To Blackwatch,” everyone echoed.

“To Bastion,” Angela said, gently correcting them.

Everyone drank to that. I downed the remains of my whiskey, feeling it warm my stomach and loosen me up.

“I guess all that’s left is to hash out the finer details,” Angela said with a sigh, relieved that a war was averted. “Now we have to work out how we’ll work together to profit from this.”

Profit.

Benefit.

Thanks to the good whiskey, and the lack of a war destroying this city, my mind got a lot more relaxed. Because of that, it started sliding pieces together. I watched Angela talk with the bosses of the syndicates, and suddenly I realized why my stomach dropped out from under me.

Benefits.

It felt like someone poured ice cold water down my back. My face drained as I realized what just happened, what I just witnessed, what this city just became. With those first few pieces together, the rest of the puzzle fell into place. Suddenly my mind was bouncing about, ricocheting off the facts, slamming them in place, coming to an epiphany, a moment of perfect realization.

I was a fool. I got played.

No, I couldn’t…I couldn’t be _that _blind, I couldn’t have missed that. My heart started slamming in my chest again as I realized what happened, how I had been played from the very beginning, how much of a gorram fool I was!

I needed my notes. I needed to go over what I had learned.

I ran from the room, pushing past the former members of individual syndicates. I ran out the hotel, almost knocking the valet boy over.

“Hey, watch it!”

I grabbed my keys from the stand and ran to the parking lot, to my Raptora.

No, please, let me be wrong about this. Dear God, let me be wrong!

I cranked the engine, peeled out of the lot, and drove home like a bat out of hell.

The trip didn’t take too long, with me roaring through traffic, cutting people off like an asshole. All the while, my mind was spinning as fast as my Raptora’s wheels. This couldn’t be it, I had to be mistaken.

I grabbed an easy parking spot, close to my door, no parallel parking required. I ran up the stairs and burst into my apartment, barely taking enough time to fully engage the lock. I nearly kicked the damn door down, but I couldn’t care about that, not now.

My heart pounded in my chest like a runaway locomotive, my head swimming with realization. It couldn’t be that, anything but that!

I ran to my desk, yanking the drawers open so hard, so fast, they flew from their tracks. I flung them across the room, spilling papers about. I dropped to my knees, grabbing my little notebook and scrap pieces of paper, and started putting my ideas together.

I started with the obvious: tracking Bastion’s killer. It was a dead end, but with the realization fresh in my mind, I looked at it with a new lens. I followed my notes, and came to the first real clue: a mysterious gunfight that led me to Deadlock and Jesse fuckin’ McCree.

That, in turn, led me to their small time smuggling port, which led me to Sombra. And Sombra’s notes led me to the conspiracy theory that sounded pretty damn good. The thing is, I never would have found out about Jesse fuckin’ McCree if it wasn’t for one little thing: a clue, something to point me in the right direction.

I stared at my scribbling on the paper. No, it couldn’t be.

I moved to my notes about the port. The shipping manifests were all laid out, as well as the false one that made me miss the ship that might’ve had the killer. I was so worked up trying to find someone entering the city, I never once considered they might _still_ be in the city. I never once considered that the manifest might’ve been tampered with just for the sake of tampering it, to be a false-flag to get me looking down the path of an outside party looking to come in.

No, please God, not that.

The doctored manifest, a crazy conspiracy theory, and a simple suggestion led me to the Shimadas, who controlled damn near everything smuggling related. They were so good at smuggling, they could expand to other cities. That meant they knew about external pressure, but they were just as in the dark about the port as Sombra was, which really said something.

From there, it was trying to legitimize the conspiracy. That led me to the police and my mother, who confirmed what the Shimadas suspected: an outside party looking to get in, only this time it was the big-bad-government man J. Edgar Hoover. From there, it was trying to trace a killing, which was started by a certain clue someone gave me, a simple phrase which led me about.

That phrase led me to Talon, and how they could hopefully track the killing, track any outside hitman. It was harder to pick who was the bigger butcher; Deadlock was showier, but Talon was just as sinister. But I examined Talon because of an innocent comment. I wrote down that little comment before, and I re-read it several times, desperate to have it just be a coincidence.

But it wasn’t.

I fell back in my seat, sick to my stomach. I reached into the bottom drawer and pulled out my bottle of emergency whiskey, trying to take the edge off, but even that lost its taste. I capped it, and put it back.

What did I just do?

“Fareeha?”

I jumped. I got so drawn into my work, I forgot to close the door. Angela stepped in, wearing that wonderful blue dress, that amazing white fox fur, a smile on her face.

“We did it,” she beamed. “We saved this city.”

I stared at her, struck dumb. I couldn’t figure out what to say.

“God, I can’t believe it, I…I thought I was going to faint,” she gushed, walking over to me. “The details, they came together faster than I thought!”

“How did you get here?” I was somehow able to croak.

“Morrison gave me a ride. He said it was the least he could do, what with me controlling Blackwatch. I think it’s his way of trying to kiss up to me,” she laughed, sitting on my desk, inches from me. “What’s with all these notes? Are you throwing them out?”

“I’m not throwing them out.”

“Then why go through dead ends and chase ghosts?” Angela asked, beaming her radiant smile. Just an hour ago, a smile like that would light me up, make me feel giddy and sickeningly in love. But now? Now I knew the truth, and it terrified me.

“I figured it out.”

That made Angela stop.

“Figured what out?” She asked with a wonderful, radiant smile.

Why couldn’t I see it before? She had the best poker face I had ever seen.

“I know who killed Bastion.”

“I thought we agreed that an outside party killed Bastion, someone who wanted to turn us against each other, and rule over the corpses of our turf war.”

“I was wrong,” I said. “I was going about it all fucking wrong.”

Angela laughed, and moved to sit on my lap. I pushed away, but she forced herself on me all the same.

“My little Fareeha, the time for that is over,” she smiled, draping her arms around my shoulders. “Our rule over the city is absolute. Why go chasing mysterious enemies when we can force them away by ourselves?”

“Because there _are_ no enemies out there!” I snapped. “This fucking crazy conspiracy theory is just that: a fucking crazy conspiracy theory! There’s no outside syndicate trying to stake a claim in this city, there’s no gang trying to play us against each other, the Feds aren’t targeting us, no one’s coming after us, there’s nothing like that!”

Angela shrunk back from my outburst, but she still looked doe-eyed innocent.

“But…I thought you said you couldn’t prove anything about Bastion’s killer,” she frowned.

“I can’t. But I know it. I know it in my marrow.”

“Fareeha—“

“Why did you kill Bastion?” I demanded.

That got her to stop.

“Fareeha,” she whispered, her lower lip trembling like a movie starlet in a blockbuster, “you’re scaring me.”

“Not as much as you’re scaring me right now, I can fucking tell you that.”

“But—“

“Why, Angela? Why did you do it?”

“How can you even say such a terrible thing?”

She cried a tear. A single, sexy tear that rolled down her cheek in the most lovely, picture perfect way. Not even Hollywood could make it that perfect.

“Because I was looking at this the wrong way,” I ranted. “I thought it was about money; _everything_ in this rotten fucking city is about money. But not this; this is the one killing that isn’t tied to a single fucking penny. This was about getting people scared. This was about getting people worried about a war, get them thinking about who would profit from such a bloodbath, or how much they’d lose with a war.

“No one in this city would make it out of a war in one piece, let alone able to profit from it! God, I should’ve realized it before. When I was a cop, my mother taught me to follow the money; but she didn’t mean to follow who would _profit_ from something, rather who would _benefit_ from it. I don’t even think she realized there was a difference!

“None of the gangs would profit from a turf war, no matter how much shit they talk. It’ll bleed everyone dry, it would destroy everyone. But if someone were to step in, point at a nebulous ‘They’ to scare them into believing that someone _else_ would profit off them, that would get the syndicates desperate. It would get them to agree to something they’d never, ever fucking agree to: surrender authority to someone else. And that someone is you, Angela. You don’t _profit_ from Bastion’s murder, but you sure as shit _benefited_ from it.

“So why, Angela?” I demanded. “Why did you kill Bastion?”

Angela looked at me.

And smiled.

“Somebody had to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's Film Noir without a Femme Fetale?


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is said that the truth will set you free.  
But in learning the truth, Fareeha doesn't feel like it has set her free.

One mad burst of realization made me realize that Angela was the one who killed Bastion. I knew it, I worked it out, but hearing her so carelessly say she killed him…it hurt me.

Angela callously wiped her single tear away like she was flecking a speck of dirt.

“Oh, my Fareeha,” she beamed, cupping my face in her hands. “My wonderful Fareeha! I’m surprised you figured it out, but I’m so glad you did!”

My blood was ice as Angela laughed.

“Why?” I croaked, prying her hands off me. “Why kill Bastion?”

“I told you, somebody had to do it,” she said. “This city is a sham. Four crime syndicates, trying to pry the last blood-stained penny out of the other’s hands? This city was doomed from the start; eventually, there would be a war. And as you so eloquently said, it would destroy everyone, and not just the syndicated families; innocent blood would choke the streets.”

Angela tossed her hair over her shoulders, her charade having run its course.

“Bastion, ironically, was the cause of it all,” she chuckled. “All his compromises did was guarantee that everyone went hungry _just enough_ to envision a world without him, giving them _just enough_ incentive to strike first, damn the consequences, and blood would choke the gutters.”

“Bastion kept the peace,” I croaked.

“Bastion was a bandage covering a festering wound,” Angela snapped. I shrunk back against her sudden fury. “When a wound is infected, you can’t put more gauze on it; you have to remove the infected bandage, clean the injury, lance it, trim any gangrenous flesh off, and inject it with antibiotics. Only then can it heal.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, you know how right I am. This city _was_ a festering wound, drawing flies and maggots to it as each syndicate tried in vain to gain an upper hand, only to be knocked down by another. It was only a matter of time until this city blew up in everyone’s faces.”

“Then why kill him?”

“I told you, the only way to cure a festering wound is to lance it,” Angela said. “I had to remove the possibility of compromise because it was the compromise itself that was destroying everything. I didn’t just kill Bastion, I made him a martyr.”

“A martyr!” I barked.

“Did you know that there were already plans to kill Bastion?” She asked.

That made me pause.

“It’s true, I heard the Widow talking with Reyes about it.”

“Like hell they’d talk about something like that in the open.”

“They felt bold because they were talking in French at the time,” she grinned. “I’m Swiss, and Switzerland happens to have two major languages: German, and French. I’m fluent in both.

“It was after another one of Bastion’s compromises, the first one that I witnessed, actually. They were walking out of the hotel, and I overheard them. The Widow was complaining because they didn’t get exactly what they wanted; she said maybe they should make a play, knock everyone out in one fell swoop. Do you know what Reyes said?

“’I already have a plan.’”

Jesus. Leave it to the goddamn Reaper. I could feel myself paling.

“If I didn’t kill Bastion, someone else would’ve, a war would’ve broken out, and in the bloody aftermath, he would’ve been seen as a villain. But I made him a hero,” Angela smiled. “I fixed the problems of this city, I cured it from the festering rot that was Bastion.”

“You think this is just something that can be cured?”

“I think that Bastion either didn’t know the extent of the power he had, or he was scared of it,” Angela said. “Either way, he was only dooming this city each time he spoke. Oh, he was truly a great man; compassionate, driven, and wholly dedicated to peace. But it would be better for him to die a martyr than to become the villain.

“Now this city has a hero, a name we can say to rally everyone to the cause. It has a true hierarchy. Each syndicate sticks to their forte, and we all profit.”

“With you at the top,” I growled.

“Of course,” she grinned. “I’m the one to be seen, to be held up, venerated, listened to as a true expert, a master, someone to share their wisdom with the masses! I became a doctor because I want my words to have weight, to be held in the highest of esteem, to have _power_.

“But doctors and experts of every kind are being ignored these days. We’re no longer powerful; the ignorant children would rather listen to a demagogue spouting reassuring lies rather than bother with an inconvenient truth,” she sneered. “We’re deafened by the naïve while we silence the wise. Look at McCarthy; he spouts absolute nonsense, and everyone is lauding him as the wisest politician when he’s only good at pointing the finger and calling people he doesn’t like a communist. And yet people follow him in droves. It doesn’t matter that the photos are doctored, the claims baseless, they shower him with power he doesn’t deserve.

“You have cancer? Ignore the doctor; crystals can save you. You think this country is being ruined? It’s not a matter of companies cutting benefits, pensions, and wages; it’s the immigrant’s fault. You think that we’re being led down the wrong path? It’s not the result of systemic oppression on the middle class and the veneration of the rich through ungodly tax breaks; it’s the damn liberal elite’s fault. Are too many people being shot? It’s not the gun manufacturer’s fault; it’s the Democrats manufacturing a false-flag operation to steal your guns.

“I didn’t become a doctor to be ignored. I didn’t study and sweat and bleed and toil for years to be pushed aside, to have the ignorant masses sneer and treat me like a kind of witch. So if the children would rather chase a conspiracy theory than follow the better way, I’ll give them one to chase. I’ll let them believe what they want, so long as I’m the one they obey in the end.”

“Jesus fuck, that’s bleak,” I stammered. “How could you believe this?”

“Don’t you remember when I told you what I hated about this city? Everyone is poisoned by money. The simple minded peasant children think money is the end-all-be-all, the ambrosia that will grant them what they want. Do what we want, get your money, climb the ladder. Money might grease the wheels, but it is power that makes the wheels turn in the first place.

“You were right about one thing, my love; you should have looked at this case as who would benefit, not profit. Money, you see, is the fancy house with a hidden speakeasy built during Prohibition. Massive, gaudy, gilded, it looks appealing, and draws many eyes.

“But the second Prohibition is repealed, the money dries up, and the house falls into disrepair. The cheaply-made walls crack, the gilded metal rusts and flakes away, and the hastily-poured foundation slips and cracks and shatters. Money flows in quickly, and it burns up quickly. At best, the house is kept as a mausoleum of its former glory, restored so that people can point and laugh at how garish and outlandish it is. But more likely than not, it becomes an abandoned house, forgotten to the sands of time.

“But power,” Angela’s eyes lit up at that, “power is the old stone Victorian mansion that lasts for centuries. Vines might grow upon it, the wind might batter it, but it withstands every test, weathers every challenge, outlives every passing fad. _Power_ is what defines the world, not money, and I cannot respect a person who cannot tell the difference!”

I had finally met the true Angela. This is the woman I saw in Orisa’s diner, when she said she had to do something about this city. The Angela I knew was just an act, a mask, a facade made to lure people in.

“And they call me misanthropic,” I croaked. My mouth was as dry as cotton. I didn’t know how I could talk. “The first time we first ate together, you said you had to do something about this city. This is what you meant, wasn’t it? Killing Bastion?”

“I almost gave it up then and there,” Angela chuckled. “You pulled the truth from me.”

“Then you must hate everyone in this city.”

“I wasn’t lying about that, I truly do detest everyone,” she nodded. “The police, Deadlock, Talon, the Shimadas, they’re all blind fools, running around like chickens with their heads cut off, listening to the flow of money when they should be listening to me. It was easy to trick them.”

“Then Blackwatch isn't about money,” I stammered, my revelation continuing. “It’s all about power.”

“Of course. Granted, I had to put a money slant on it to appease these wretched children. I let them make their money, I keep the cycle of cash spinning, and they give me the power I rightfully deserve.”

“The syndicate heads won’t last forever, new blood will want a new deal.”

“Oh, there will be a changing of the guards eventually, and I can’t _wait_ for it,” Angela grinned. “Once I show everyone how much better Blackwatch is, the syndicate leaders will become figureheads. Then they’ll become little more than an appendix; at one point a useful organ, but now little more than a vestigial piece of flesh. The ‘new blood’ you speak off will know only of Blackwatch, of my way, and the babblings of the old heads will be drowned out.

“When that day comes, they can either be shuffled off to live the rest of their days in a retirement cage, or they can quickly and easily disposed of. Either way, that leaves only me. What a day that will be, no?”

Angela smiled at that with a wide, rictus grin. She was getting off on this!

“Y-you used me,” I stammered. “You played me. No one could give you the city, everyone has their agendas. No one but me, the last independent.”

“It was necessary,” she admitted. “Killing Bastion lit the metaphorical fuse, but it drew too much attention. I had to keep things going with a private eye. I needed you to give credence to the idea of the outside party making a move on us. You’re the last person they would ever accept: you hate them all equally.”

My mind was spinning out of control, piecing everything together in a whirlwind of this terrible truth.

“You knew about Bastion’s gun, where he kept it hidden. You knew when Zarya would change her guards, you knew the perfect time to kill him.”

“One of the benefits of having Bastion take me under his wing,” she beamed. “I saw him cleaning it once, and he told me the story of how he got it. And being protected by Zarya, I simply asked her when her guards changed. Easy as pie.”

“You knew that Sombra would think this was a paranoid conspiracy,” I said. “You used me to give it legitimacy, to keep people from focusing on the here and now, turn them to the what-ifs, the crazy ideas.”

“Don’t give me too much credit, Sombra already believed in some grand conspiracy theory,” she laughed.

“You expected that there would already be outside forces pushing at the city; you had to know about the Feds.”

“Everyone in this city needs to read the newspapers more. Good old Mr. J. Edgar Hoover is _very_ vocal in his desire to have everything bow to him and his precious FBI. If the syndicate heads kept up to date with the comings and goings of the world, maybe they would’ve figured my play out.”

“The gunfight at the port, the night before Bastion’s murder,” I gasped. “It let you sneak into the dock office, make the change to the manifest, throw about suspicion. It made the idea of an outside ghost gang seem that much more real. You staged it.”

“And all it took were a few cheap hired guns to take a careless shot at Jesse fuckin’ McCree,” she laughed. “And all it took were a few sweet words to make him think he stumbled into something big, something terrible, something that only Jesse fuckin’ McCree could handle, something that would play to his pride. I had to blow him, but he’s surprisingly able to keep his mouth shut and play along if you dangle a piece of pussy in front of him.”

That was a slap to my face, a knife to my heart.

“W-was I just something to be led about?” I gasped, my eyes tearing despite my best efforts. “Someone who’d go crazy over a woman as beautiful as you…?”

Angela stopped her mad gloating, and looked me in the eyes. Suddenly, she wasn’t boasting. Suddenly, her eyes were filled with a mixture of sadness and regret in them, the kind that couldn’t be faked.

“My Fareeha, I could never lie to you about this,” she said, taking my hand. I thrashed, but she held onto it. “At first, yes, you were. Until you, I’d never been with a woman before.”

I felt the tears coming. I was just something to be used and thrown away.

“But as I grew closer to you, as I grew to know you, I realized something amazing,” she said, wiping my tears away. “You’re just like me.”

“I’m nothing like you!” I spat, brushing her hand away. “I never use people like you do!”

“But you hate them all the same,” she smiled.

That made me stop.

“My Fareeha, you saw how rotten this city was, how filthy it was, and the truth disgusted you, just like it disgusted me,” she said. “All the money, corrupting all it touched, you saw it and spat it out. You never let it define you. God, Fareeha, can’t you see that you’re above it all? You’re just like me.”

“I’m nothing like you,” I mumbled again.

“In some ways that’s right,” she nodded. “You turned away from the money. I decided to do something about it.”

Angela took my trembling hands.

“My Fareeha, we’re so much alike. We’re outsiders to this established den of rot. But we changed that. With my plan and your credibility, we changed this city. We can rule it all together, be together, make our mark together. I have Blackwatch; there’s _so much_ we can do now! The sky is the limit for people like us! We can rule over these unruly children, together.”

Despite all that I was told, all the lies that were laid bare, the truth about how Angela first felt about me, despite all that, I still wanted her. I wanted to say yes to her so badly.

But she killed Bastion. She let so many other people get hurt, all to come out on the top of this shit heap. She used the greatest man this city had ever known as nothing more than a pawn to be sacrificed, all to be the one who presides over everything. She wouldn’t stop the gun running, the smuggling, the drugs, the killings, she would just stand over it all and let it happen.

She was just another ruthless mob boss. I hated her just a little more than I loved her.

“No.”

“Fareeha,” Angela begged. “Please. I want to be with you, I truly do.”

“I can’t be with someone who throws people’s lives away.”

“Even if I make the city better?” She pressed. “We both know that a war would hurt so many people. I stopped that, I stopped that war! I saved countless lives.”

“You almost started it, too! Do the ends justify the means to you?”

“Even if it wasn’t by my hands, would you rather let this city blow itself up? It was going to happen no matter what we might do. It wasn’t a matter of ‘if,’ but a matter of ‘when.’”

I couldn’t answer her. She’s right, of course, but I still couldn’t say it.

“Fareeha…”

“No.”

Tears sprung from Angela’s eyes. Real tears.

“But I want you, now more than ever. I wasn’t lying when I told you I love you.”

“I can’t be with a woman like you.”

Angela leaned into me, gently pressing her forehead against mine.

“I don’t believe you,” she whispered. “I think one day, you’ll return to me.”

“I want to,” I croaked, the truth dragged from me by her gorgeous cerulean eyes.

“Then come with me.”

“No.”

“You’d throw this all away? You’d tell everyone the truth?”

“I have half a mind to do it!”

“You can’t tell anyone,” Angela said. “If the truth got out, the war would start, hundreds of innocent people would die as nothing more than collateral damage, and I…I’d never last a day. I wouldn’t last an _hour_. They’d kill me, Fareeha, and it won’t be merciful. Y-you’d never do that to me, would you…?”

I pictured what would happen to Angela if I ran my mouth, shouted this truth. I thought of the pieces everyone would cut from her while she still breathed. I thought of the war that would tear this city apart, of the dozens, the hundreds, no, the tens of hundreds of innocent people who’d be caught in the crossfire, of the blood that would overfill the gutters.

No, I couldn’t do that. Not to Angela, and not to this city.

“Avoiding a war doesn’t justify the blood on your hands.” I had to take a few deep breaths, steeling myself, before I could talk. “Get out.”

Angela looked like she’d been slapped.

“Fareeha—”

“Get. Out.”

Angela’s face fell.

“Before I go,” she said, “kiss me, my love.”

She cupped my face in her hands, pulling me close. I kept a hold of the rage in my heart as I kissed her back. I stoked the pain of her betrayal as I pushed her against the desk, pulling the dress’ straps off her shoulders. I remembered the lives she destroyed with her grand ambitions as she undid my belt. I burned the face of Bastion’s dead body into my brain as I carried her to my bed, and I made myself hate her as much as I could as I pushed my fingers into her and she gasped and moaned and she kissed me back and wrapped her legs around me and cried my name as she begged for more.

I made myself hate her as much as I could as we fucked, as she left bite marks on me, as I vented my anger on her as I fucked her harder and harder, hearing her cry my name and how much she loved me. I resented her love as she pressed her fingers into me, as we rocked against each other until we came, gasping and moaning and finding comfort in each other’s bodies.

And despite all that, I still loved her.

* * *

I sat on the edge of my bed. I could feel it move as Angela sat up.

“My love—“

“Get. Out.”

I could feel her recoil against my words. Still, she sat up, moving towards the edge of the bed, and me. I jumped as her hands caressed my chest.

“You’ll come around,” she whispered in my ear. “I know you will.”

I knew it was only a matter of time until I did.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fareeha can't be with Angela because of the way she used Bastion, played the city, and rules over Blackwatch.  
Angela can't be with Fareeha because she can't give up Blackwatch.  
Yet both women still love each other.  
And their pride demands that they can't be the first one to blink.

A familiar, piercing, stabbing light jabbed my eyes, burning my entire brain. Oh God, why the fuck do I stay in this shitty ass apartment that lets the sun in every damn morning?

I numbly rolled around, looking for a pillow to blot the sun out, but my stomach had other things in mind for me. My mouth, dry as cotton, suddenly overflowed with spit, and I could feel my belly clench and heave.

Fuck me, why now? I fell out of my bed, scattering empty bottles around. Most were beer, but I had an odd gin bottle scattered about, too. Fuck, I’m cramped all over. The world rolled, either from my hangover or my nausea. I crawled across the floor as fast as I could. If I had a bigger, nicer apartment, I’d never have made it to the bathroom. So yay for tiny, shitty apartments, I guess.

I made it to the porcelain goddess just as my stomach won the fight to empty itself. I held the bowl as my stomach heaved, pumping whatever foul dregs were still lingering about out of my belly. I coughed and spat and cursed the asshole known as God as my stomach roiled again. Eventually, I got it all out of my system, but I still couldn’t stand. I could barely hold onto the toilet for fear it would throw me off.

So I sat there, curled up at the toilet, waiting for the world to stop spinning.

Something heavy hit the ground. Blinking, I realized I was looking at the ceiling. That ‘heavy thing hitting the ground’ thing was me. I couldn’t even hold onto the damn toilet. Oh fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever been this hungover.

My eyes fluttered, and the light from my room had receded. How long did I stay on the floor of my bathroom? Then my head split open as someone knocked on my door.

“Um, Ms. Amari? Are you there?” A British accent asked.

Stop knocking, asshole!

“Ms. Amari? Hello?”

“I’m here,” I croaked. “Just…give me a minute. Please.”

Goddammit, why did I have to get a client right now? Fortunately my stomach didn’t hate me as much, so I pushed myself up, grabbing the sink to pull myself up. Everything felt so disconnected; was I still drunk? It didn’t matter, I got up.

I got a look of myself in the mirror as I stood up. I spent the last year getting sick of looking at my worn, tired face every morning. The bags under my eyes had returned, said eyes were bloodshot, and I was getting a little gaunt.

I remember the good days of getting full nights of sleep. Those were before I found myself in the bottom of a bottle. Good times, I still miss the sleep.

Fortunately I passed out with my clothes on, so I was wearing a very crumpled dress shirt and khakis. I splashed some water on my face and gargled real quick, getting the dry taste of vomit from my mouth. Then I stumbled over to my door and pulled it open.

“How can I help you?” I asked.

A pretty redhead in a red dress stood outside my door. She gave me a worried look.

“Are you okay?” She sounded like Lena a bit.

“Never better,” I lied. “What is it?”

“Oh, um, I’m Emily. Lena told me about you, and…well, I want to hire you.”

So this is the famous, and pretty, Emily. I nodded, letting her into my crappy apartment/office. I could hear the hesitation in Emily’s steps as she walked in. Sooner or later, I gotta pay someone to clean my pigsty up.

I sat at my desk, leaning down to open a drawer full of hair-of-the-dog. I took a quick nip to try and feel a little normal, then sat up as Emily sat down across from me.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “Mind if I smoke?”

“Oh, no, go ahead,” Emily said. “As for me, well, you see, I’m opening a business.”

Oh boy, this is off to a great start already.

“An import/export business,” she continued. “I want to bring in cooking items, teas, quality food and spices, things like that. I found a business partner, and we’re looking to open soon.”

“Congrats.”

“Thanks,” she smiled. “But…well, they said they ran into trouble. Trouble at the port.”

Yup, I know where this was going.

“We pooled our money together, my partner and I. Not Lena, but someone else,” Emily said. “Put it in a joint business account. Only, I checked with the bank, and most of it is gone. I think she’s embezzling from me.”

Most likely paying off the various Blackwatch bribes and fees, the ‘cost of doing business’ in this godforsaken town.

“Does your partner know you’re here?”

“No, they think I’m paying Lena a surprise lunch visit.”

Lunch? Fuck. I looked at a wall clock. Sure enough, it was twelve-forty.

“Can you help me?” Emily asked.

I knew how this case would end. But it’ll be easy, and I could always use some drinking money.

“Fifty a day, plus expenses,” I said.

“Oh.” That took Emily back. “H-how long do you think it’ll take?”

“About three days. Four if someone is stubborn.”

“O-okay,” she stammered. She reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet. “Here’s my number, two days’ worth of payment, and a few fliers we made for our business. I hope this helps.”

“Sorry this is happening to you,” I said. I wasn’t lying; I just hoped it came out as sincere as I meant it. Being hungover to fuck killed any semblance of pity.

“Thank you,” she smiled. “Lena…maybe she was right about you.”

“Right about me what?”

“Being a good person, someone looking to help.”

I raised my eyebrow at that.

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re an arsehole,” Emily said, her eyes narrowing. “I _still_ remember you drunk dialing Lena a year ago, saying we should all have a three-some. But as a professional, you seem dedicated to helping others.”

“Glad that Lena’s helping out with my sterling reputation,” I said. “I’ll give you a call.”

Emily nodded, and walked out. I limped behind her, closing the door. If there was one good thing that came from this whole Blackwatch crap, it made a lot more business for bottom dwellers like me. True to her word, Angela kept cash moving about the city, and because everything was interconnected now, it let Blackwatch throw a lot of money around.

Getting squeezed by a protection racket? Maybe someone will help you, for the right price. Of course, they’re still working for Blackwatch; you’ll just be paying them in a more roundabout way, but it’ll make you feel good, feel like you were accomplishing something. It’ll keep you quiet, and a quiet mark was a good mark. No need to get the bigger guns in on this, no need for the Feds to stick their noses in and ruin a good thing.

Blackwatch moving money around also led to some new businesses. Organized prostitution was becoming a bigger thing, run by Genji fucking Shimada of all people. That led to a lot of angry spouses, which kept my wallet full.

If I cut back on the drinking, maybe I could move into a better apartment. Or move out of this city.

But I knew that would never happen. Even a year on, Angela’s betrayal still hurt, especially when reminders of it where everywhere I could see. And my bottled friends were always there to lend a helping hand.

My stomach rumbled, deciding that it was done with puking and should get some real food in it.

“Fine, fine,” I hissed. I took a quick shower, changed clothes, and walked over to Orisa’s diner. Fortunately I missed the lunch rush. There were only two other people there.

I sat down, and Orisa slid me a plate of greasy goodness. Sunny side up eggs, toast, bacon, sausage, hash browns, oh, it all looked so good.

“Thanks,” I said, trying to smile as best I could.

I loaded up the toast with a little bit of everything, and got to eating. Eventually, the two other people left, and Orisa walked up to me.

“Fareeha…” Orisa mumbled.

“Yes?” I croaked.

“You need to see someone.”

That made me look at Orisa. Worry lines creased her face.

“You’re not being good to yourself,” she said. “I’m worried about you.”

“Glad someone is.”

“You’re so bitter now. You used to be happy. What happened?”

I poured more salt onto my hash browns.

“You know that Angela still comes here.”

“Don’t,” I snarled, “say her name.”

“The two of you were so good together. She got you to stop drinking.”

“Orisa…”

“Can’t you go back to Angela?”

_Bastion was lying on the ground a foot in front of a wall, a pool of drying blood leaking from his abdomen and head. He was dressed in his usual bar attire; white dress shirt, black vest, black dress pants._

_He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling with glassy eyes._

“I can’t,” I mumbled.

“She still loves you—“

“I know and I don’t fucking care!”

I realized just how loud I was. Good thing the diner was empty.

Poor Orisa was beside herself.

“Fareeha, what happened between you two?”

I kept my mouth shut. If anyone knew that Angela killed Bastion, word would get out. And when it did, the former syndicate heads would still go after her. If they found out how badly she played everyone, they’d cut her to pieces in the slowest way possible. And then the war would start.

And I still loved her enough to never, ever want to see her hurt.

“Fareeha,” Orisa gasped, “please.”

“Nothing. Happened,” I said through clenched teeth.

Orisa walked away to get a breather, running her fingers through her hair. Eventually she came back.

“Fareeha, this isn’t good for you,” she said. “You’re drowning yourself in booze. You need to talk to someone.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone in this city I can talk to.”

“Then talk to Angela! Work out your differences! Please.”

If I go back to Angela, I might not come back. I might say things to her I promised to never say again. I’d say that I still love her, that I forgive her for killing the greatest man this city ever knew. I knew I’d forgive her for nearly destroying this city in her grand ambitions to rule over everything, for being the biggest mob boss anyone had ever seen, corrupting all with her need for power. I knew it was only a matter of time until I went back to her.

But that time was not today.

“I’ll think on it.”

“Please do, I hate seeing you like this.”

“You’re too good to me, Orisa. I want you to know that.”

She nodded, and took my empty plate. As she walked back, I slid some bills under the salt and pepper shakers. Then I walked out. Maybe Emily’s partner was at her store. Maybe I could come to an agreement with them over what to tell Emily.

Down the street, I saw a cop car. The police officer…wait, shit, that was Hana Song herself. Mom’s protégé, out in the streets all by her lonesome? I blinked, and realized Hana was talking with a man in an apron, a business owner of some kind. They seemed pretty spirited, then I saw the man slide a wad of bills over to Hana.

Ah. Nothing to see here, ladies and gentlemen, it’s just your friendly neighborhood shake down. And it _was_ friendly. The man’s business had a boarded up window. Looks like his protection lapsed, and someone just so happened to throw a brick through his window. Either he got the message, or he just wanted things to go back to the way they were, without bricks through his window. Either way, he happily paid the protection bribe.

No wonder Hana was here. She must be learning how Angela wants the protection rackets run, Blackwatch style. I wondered if Hana would take over for Jack and my mom one day.

I walked to my Raptora. I’d never dare disrespect my Raptora by driving drunk; fortunately, eating sobered me up, leaving me to deal with the lingering pain of my drinking. I climbed in, and cranked the engine. She spun up perfectly, lifting my soul with her big ol’ V8. I might not take care of myself or my apartment anymore, but I still took care of my precious Raptora. I kept her shiny and polished, like the first day I took her off the lot. If I took solace in one thing, I took it in pampering my baby.

I looked at the flier Emily gave me. Time to make it look like I was working.

I eased onto the streets, and drove up to her business. She found a spot on the line between downtown and the docks, a pretty good location. As I drove, I saw a bank with an armored car in front of it. Protection of banks had gone up in the year that Angela took over. They had to make it seem like they were playing by all the rules, just so they could get insurance from the federal government when they got robbed.

Wonder how they spun the occasional bank robbery. Then again, it didn’t matter. Bank robberies were big stories in the newspapers. The cops would eventually find some of the stolen money, maybe a fall-guy or two would pop up, so by the time the feds got here, it was all wrapped up in a neat and tidy little bow.

Then the cops ruled it a random robbing and nothing serial, and the government men would leave, and the banks would get some money back. Ashe must be so happy she could get so much from a bank, all without risking her neck. Hell, maybe Jesse had been given a bigger piece of the robbery pie; maybe he had been chosen to take over Ashe’s stakes should anything ‘happen’ to her.

Maybe Angela would ask for Jesse to take care of Calamity Ashe and Bob himself. Ashe would never see it coming, and a hit like that would leave the remnants of Deadlock firmly in Blackwatch hands. Hell, jumping sides is something Jesse had done before.

I found Emily’s store. I ended up parking a few blocks down, and started walking, my lingering hangover keeping me in constant, agonizing company.

Passing a house, I caught of whiff of something burning; smelled like Mary Jane. And where there was Mary Jane, there was likely heroin, meaning that Hanzo would be getting a nice cut. That cut would go to Blackwatch, who would help the Shimada brothers grow their dope, either to be sold, or for the explicit purpose of making a good picture for a cop raid. Now that they didn’t have to worry about random drug busts, Hanzo expanded, both in this city and out.

Allegedly. Hell, maybe Mei was cutting her teeth on this. Word around the campfire said she actually had a good head about her shoulders, and won a lot of trust with a pretty smile. Maybe this meant Mei was next in line for the Blackwatch group formerly known as the Shimada clan should any terrible accident befall the brothers Hanzo and Genji.

My walk finally took me to Emily’s shop. It was nearly ready to be opened, and looked quite cute. Before I could enter, my eyes caught a nearby newspaper vending machine. The top headline? Another mysterious killing. Skimming the headline, I saw that the body had a few neat little holes in it. Said body appeared to belong to a man thinking of running for mayor on an anti-corruption platform, a Mr. Reinhardt Wilhelm. Talon must’ve taken real pleasure in nipping that one in the bud.

Maybe Reyes and the Widow did the deed. Maybe it was Moira who planned it out. Now that inter-syndicate rivalry was non-existent, Reyes didn’t do too much. But Moira? From what I heard, she’s taking quite a shining to staying on top of any possible political trouble.

Looking at some of the headline pictures, the kill did seem pretty surgical. Maybe Moira found her true calling: being the next head of the de-clawed Talon once Reyes and the Widow had their time to shine.

The sign on Emily’s store said ‘closed,’ but I pushed it open regardless. Bells chimed, and Lena walked out from a back room, looking dashing in her pristine double-breasted police uniform. Every single one of her brass buttons shined.

“Fareeha,” Lena hissed, glaring at me.

“Well, Lena. This is a surprise. What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she shot back.

“Sweet Jesus, I’m not gonna ask for anymore threesomes with you and Emily,” I groaned. “It’s been a year.”

“That’s not what I’m pissed about,” she said. “Did Emily hired you?”

“She did.”

“Fuck.” Lena pulled at her short hair. “This is about the joint account losing money, yeah?”

“I assume the import/export thing is being squeezed?”

“Y-yeah, it is,” Lena mumbled.

“You try explaining it to her that this is how the city works now? How you have to pay the dues and fines and dance to their tune?”

“I try to,” Lena mumbled, “but I keep it vague.”

“And Emily isn’t catching on.”

“No, she ain’t.”

“Damn. What about all the extra money you’re getting? How do you spin that one?”

“I tell her that Jack made a lot of changes, and officers are up for performance-based bonuses. We’re looking good on the federal level, and they’re showing us their appreciation.”

“Let me guess: you always seem to get your bonuses.”

Lena couldn’t look at me as she nodded her head.

“Shit. I’m an asshole, but at least I never lied to you.”

Lena shot me a withering glare.

“I’ll see myself out,” I said, turning around.

“You ain’t gonna charge her for anything, are you?” Lena called.

“I think it’ll take me a few days to put together a case of ‘I don’t know where your money went.’”

“Oh fuck you, don’t you _dare_ string this out,” Lena spat.

“I’ll drop the case if you tell Emily the truth,” I shot back. “Shit, I’ll even refund the down payment if you do it now! There’s a phone over there; go on, call her!”

Lena’s lips were pressed into a fine line as she glared at me. I stood there, waiting, and she stood there, growing more and more flush as she glared at me, but Lena kept her mouth shut. Now I remember why Lena and I didn’t last. Sure I’m an asshole, but Lena is just another wretched little girl, selling pieces of her soul for a few more scraps of green paper.

“Didn’t think so,” I growled. “So who’s the asshole now?”

“Don’t you dare look down on me,” she hissed. “Don’t you fucking _dare _turn your nose up at me and think I’m just some money hungry whore who has a badge. I do what I have to in order to get ahead, just like you! You’re stringing my Emily along for a payday, how’s that any different from what I’m doing for the cops?”

“_I’m _like you?” I laughed. “Do you see me buying fancy new clothes like you do? Do you see me taking my date out to expensive restaurants three days out of the week like you do? Do you see me throwing money around because I know I’ll be getting more of it like you do?

“I do what I do so I can eat, so I can drink, and so I can have a place to pass the fuck out when I drink too much. I do what I do to survive; _you _do what you do because you like having money to burn. You sell your soul because you like how money feels between your greedy fingers. _That’s_ the difference between you and me, Lena. Don’t you fucking forget it.”

I stormed out of the shop. Walking down the street, I saw a car driving by. A glossy black, very fancy, and very dangerous car. It looked freshly waxed with nothing to mar it’s beauty. The windows were tinted, but as it slowly purred by, the back window rolled down.

Angela looked at me, pain and longing in her eyes. She wore another white dress, looking like a damn movie star, her golden hair gently curled about her head. I hissed as the car pulled over.

“Zarya, how do you like being a driver now?” I asked, leaning on the car.

“I’m a bodyguard,” Zarya said from the driver’s seat. “Protecting Ms. Ziegler is my job.”

“Sure.”

“Fareeha,” Angela said, pleading with me, “can’t you come back to me?”

“You do this every so often, Angela. What’s my answer from the last time?”

“Fareeha, please, can we just have lunch like we used to?”

“You know the answer to that.”

Angela couldn’t look at me.

“There’s been no one else,” she said quietly. “It’s only been you.”

That got me to stop.

“I know you’ll come back to me,” she said, finally looking at me. “And I want you to. I want you, Fareeha. I still love you.”

“I still love you, too,” I mumbled. “I…I haven’t had anyone else, either. It’s only been you.”

Angela looked like she would cry, and truly cry at that. There wasn’t anything fake about her emotions, that I could tell.

“Zarya,” she asked, “can you give us a minute please?”

Zarya nodded, parking the car before getting out, standing about ten feet away. She took out a cigarette, smoking to show she wasn’t actively listening, but was still close enough to do her job as a bodyguard.

“My little Fareeha, please, come back to me,” Angela begged. “I still love you.”

“And I still love you, too,” I admitted. “But you know I can’t.”

“Is it because of Blackwatch? My love, I’d give it all up in an instant to be with you.”

“Really?” I snorted.

“Really,” she lied. “Could you give up your hate of me if it meant we could be together again?”

That made me pause.

“Yeah, I could,” I lied.

“Then stop hating me, please. We can be together again.”

“Give up Blackwatch. Walk away from it all and I’ll be with you.”

The seconds ticked by.

“I’m waiting,” I said.

“As am I,” Angela said.

Fuck.

“I…I don’t want to give my hate up. Not after what you did to me, how you used me.”

“And I couldn’t possibly walk away from Blackwatch. Not after everything I did to make it.”

“Even if you wanted to?”

“Even if you wanted to give up your hate.”

That got me to chuckle.

“Good talk,” I said. “Can’t wait to do this again in a few more weeks.”

“Please, let me love you,” Angela begged, real tears in her eyes.

I walked away before I could do something I would regret, brushing past Zarya who I’m sure was glaring at me for hurting her boss.

“Fareeha!” Angela called out.

I ignored her, reaching into a pocket for a cigarette.

Angela killed Bastion. She killed the only good man in this city, all so she could be the one to rule over a city full of shit and corruption. It was a good move; she’s the best player this town had ever seen. She’s so good, no one would ever know she manufactured the entire crisis. In a really, really fucked up way, Angela was the town’s savior _and_ it’s leper messiah, ruling over everything with a diseased hand, driven by her need for power.

I hated her and her ambitions. I hated how she sacrificed people, how little she cared for their lives. And I hated her for ruling over a syndicate such as Blackwatch, for profiting off people’s misery, their hopes, their dreams, and even their deaths.

I hated her as much as I could, because I still loved her, and I still wanted her. And while I knew one day I’d break and go back to her, that day was not today.

The walk back to my Raptora was quick, just quick enough for me to finish my smoke. Emily’s job didn’t require any work, but I was getting some cash from it. Might as well try to drown my love for Angela in another bottle or four and ride this payday out. Maybe I’d catch a flick at the new movie theater by my place.

As I got into my Raptora, I paused. Did this city do this to Angela? Did it corrupt her, give her a thirst for power, or did it bring out her selfish desires?

Did power corrupt, or did power simply reveal a person’s true character?

Maybe it was both. Maybe that’s what drew her to this damn place.

I put my Raptora in gear, and drove away. Maybe I should leave this city. But that would mean leaving Angela, and I still couldn’t do that to myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Forget it, Fareeha, it's Chinatown.](https://youtu.be/7uSz0mEtEsQ?t=60)


End file.
